midnight packages

a mug of warmth and
a piece of longing heart.

and all those colds are gone.


i want to live in a library

sleeping with a book-blanket out at sea.
seabear, library.

i love libraries, especially the dim-lit, quiet and somehow messy libraries. not the bright, happy libraries, glistening with new colorful books. i love the kind of libraries that are a bit dusty, that reminds you of simple beautiful things which are probably forgotten while you are living in your busy world; the kind of libraries which make your heart beats a little bit faster when you walk along its quiet isle because you feel like you are entering a secretly magical, strange but somehow familiar place. you can't not love the feeling when you can hear your own shoes on the floor and sense the smell of old books.
the quietness, the feeling that you're surrounded by some kind of unrevealed mysteries, the feeling when you move your fingers through dusty old books from faraway places.
and you know, you are having your own little adventure.

more photos here


perjalanan pulang

lampu kota mengabur. di antara banyak langkah kaki dan suara aku pelan-pelan membisikkan namamu ke udara, mengucapkannya tanpa bersuara, melepaskannya dengan hati-hati, berharap ia sampai dengan selamat ke atmosfer dimana semua berbaur antara mimpi dan harapan dan doa dan kenyataan.

dan aku mengucap syukur dengan sunyi: mengetahui bahwa engkau ada di dunia ini memberikan kelegaan yang tidak bisa aku jelaskan.


for the memory under the cotton tree

I remember,

it was breezy and warm, in the first day of summer,

the wind carried the sweetness of meadow flowers,

and the freshness of green grasses.

That time I saw you,

smiled, staring at the clouds.

Quiet. Wise. Bothered not by the outside world.

In the moment you caught my eyes,

I remember,

tons of silence,

but your eyes spoke tenderly,

the words hided under your wings.


you asked me to follow,

barefeet, stepped on the dewy grasses,

greeted the sun and the trees,

listened to the river and the wind.

You said, "I want to live like them;

free, but in harmony,

careless, but in compassion",

and I was amazed. I could not say a word.

It is breezy and warm, in the first day of summer,

I’m standing in the middle of meadow-flowers.

I remember,

and I smile.

It was my first love.

March 3rd 2007

for introduction to literature class


let's go somewhere stupid

meet me in the same daylight sky
sit beside me and
take out your wooden spoon and lets
take a spoonful of sunbeams
and a mouthful of clouds
and laugh at our own silliness

meet me in the same night sky
lay beside me and
bring your kaleidoscope
take a look at the stars and
call them by their names, and lets watch
the wind passing by,
wondering where it goes
wondering where our life goes.

you know, sometimes
i just want to wash my face in the sky.



only the thought of you gives me the ability to smile at
the billboards. at the traffic lights. at the faces of the
strangers. at the raindrops on
the window.


about dawn.

do you know the time when you feel like you are sleepwalking between the dream and reality? everything that are used to being very familiar to you in the day: trees, windows and curtains, coffee cups, holes on your pavement, your feet on the grass, sound of the door swinging, clouds, sunlight, feel magical, and new? And you start looking in every direction, trying to grasp every color, every shape and every move, like you see it all through the eyes of a child in the back of a bike. you discover yourself. you remember what it's like to be yourself. then the sun comes and they are back into the things you knew, but you have this kind of peace in your heart and that's enough.
that's why i love dawn.


dawn and tea

a cup of tea early in the morning
pouring a steamy cup into
the shade of daydreams.


i used to be an owl.

i used to be an owl
who sat in your tree
watching your dream-catcher caught
your nightmares

i used to be an owl
and you used to be my serene dream
you know
the kind of dream that makes you smile on your sleep
because it feels real?
but as i'm half-awake
i try to recall
those reveries but
it's as if
i'm trying to hold on to
the water
in cupped wings.

i used to be an owl
and we used to sit shoulder to shoulder
whistling to the sky
and talking about the planets, your wooden rocking chair beside the fire, our hazy dreams, and my messy little garden.

i guess i am not an owl
but i'm growing weary for
not being one.


pour laisser place aux rêves de douceur.

hey it's just me. and my worn out shoes.
but maybe together, you and i, we can find something beautiful on the horizon.



dear owlheart,

i've always imagined human's memories are tiny stuffs kept in a carved wooden chest stored in an insignificant corner somewhere in the chambers of mind. i don't know if it's just me or you do too, but every now and then i add dry flowers and a little bit of vanilla scent inside. at times i tint them with shades of rose color, and a little bit of purples and yellows. no, if you ask, i'm not lying to myself. i guess it's just me being me.

and it's sort of funny, isnt it? how a single sight of someone or something opens that chest, and the pieces of memories you thought you'd left behind are flooding your thought like the sight from a train window and make you happy and sad at the same time and make you want to remember and forget at the same time?

there are also black and white memories which are nearly untouchable. you know, the kind of memory that makes you feel like you're half asleep squinting your eyes at your car window during the storm? you're not sure if it's real, but you know that it is there, hidden, burried in the back of your mind. you know it somehow has become a part of who you are.

and blurry hazy memories. as if you're looking with an unfocused camera. as if you come into contact with that fragments of your life rollercoastering. you only remember a glance of technicolor movements and resonating sounds and elusive scents and splash of passions. but it's enough to make you happy at the end of the day.

and there is a place, in the deeper side of the chest, where unpredicted memories are kept. it's like when you take it out with care and open the case and suddenly you're looking at some parts of you that you left behind; the more youthful you. like you've left your younger reflections on the lake and finally after you traveled to faraway places and see the world has changed, and you have changed, then you come back to see your old, younger reflection preserved. it makes you feel strange and familiar.

and dear owlheart, don't be upset. i made a part of the chest airy so it can fuse with the memory when i daydream. or halfsleep-driving.

how thin the crust between dreaming and memories inside my head.