Nusaluka
Nusaluka, our heavenly village has become a tomb
water, earth, air squeezing chest
while this nation is already a nation of travelers
looking for ancestors to the land of the people
Irrhamna Ya Arrhamarrohimiin
Lord
how many hectares of land do we have to pawn to sow the seeds
painful. While dry tears replace the waves
Garut, October 31, 2010
Sacred
It's raining tonight, god. My hair is drenched as well as years ago
God of heaven
I am dust
And Muharram picks up without a ba ta tsa
My hair is falling as odd and even notes
when the rain no longer falls and the sun shines
Before my body degenerates, I want my margins to harden
Tasikmalaya, 2010
Death
: Asep Sambodja
If poetry is a choice
then death is real
Tasikmalaya, 2010
Poems for Boedi
How are you Boedi? we haven't seen each other for a long time
I want to remember the poetry we once read as a sign of solidarity
In a field that we later know as the battlefield
A flower field that is red, white, red, white, blood red, and white bone.
Oh, memories
the field has become a garden of weeds. Our village no longer has enough space to plant flowers, while you are aging in the pulse of the city
Once I looked for you to the mountains to the sea to the caves to the ceiling of repentance to the midst of the moss. Then I just smelled you. He said you were sick: what kind of pain do you have, Boedi?
Boedi you are me, is my body, is my lover
Before I end this life, before I hang myself or before I die
let me ask: when did you reincarnate into me into my body into my lover. To red to white to red white to blood red to bone white.
You know Boedi
I want to be your round black eyes
Then read poetry, plant flowers in my mother's village.
Tasikmalaya, November 2010
https://www.pkbmcelahcahaya.edu.eu.org/
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