POOR OLD MAN BALLADS

Life is a series of coincidences, incidentally is a fate in disguise.

POOR OLD MAN BALLADS

Who would have thought it would be here? I have not counted how old I am. There is so much we experience when we are backward. Behind us stands a monument called fate, there has been written the roll that we will live. Though how we circumvent that provision in that fate, it can not but must obey his command.

The concept of time is raised to the level of human mind. Not physical. Cells are not familiar with the concept of time. It’s just renewing itself, continuously without having to do with seconds. We (humans) are themselves who hold the concept of linear time and agree to follow it. The concept of time is born from the fundamental human desire to have control over life, including self. The present, the future and now only one single movement. Now, more important than the past and the future. Because now is the moment where the potential is manifested. Only now, we are able to feel the past and realize the future. The moment is capable of renewing itself indefinitely, man can be anything.

A man like anything will always be ground on the ground, he will not be able to avoid the attraction of the earth. I have felt the loss of something precious because of my own inadequacy. It is impossible to live unharmed life. Or refuse to get hurt. The wounds we collect signify our mistakes and successes. But humans can still choose, not to be jealous, or not to envy. That is human value.

I owe a lot of forgiveness from everyone I have hurt. Top sharp words, over cold hearts, over loud action. For every what I have done let forgiveness come. I am lucky to get the warm friendship of everyone. For what I sometimes feel, does not deserve it. Someone who is cold-hearted never imagined getting this much sincerity.

Who am I? Was he someone wearing the same face for years, or was he someone who could change quickly? Or was he the one who had reached its last concave, now lungs, punching, with a layer that had been exposed, to what appeared to be a non-face. I am just a poor old man. Desiring to be rich, and the true wealth is to receive the various sides without fear. Everything is possible.

Life is a series of coincidences, incidentally is a fate in disguise.

Maybe I have failed, maybe I have lost, but I am still alive. Indeed I have changed a lot, in time.

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About tengkuputeh

Cepat seperti angin // Tekun seperti hujan // Bergairah seperti api // Diam seperti gunung // Misterius seperti laut // Kejam seperti badai // Anggun seperti ngarai // Hening seperti hutan // Dalam seperti lembah // Lembut seperti awan // Tangguh seperti karang // Sederhana seperti debu // Menyelimuti seperti udara // Hangat seperti matahari // Luas seperti angkasa // Berserakan seperti debu //
This entry was posted in International, Literature, Poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to POOR OLD MAN BALLADS

  1. Touching story, greetings from Italy

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