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Tengkuputeh

I love words, I have fallen into the joy of writing them
The Poet. There must be a man who believes in the power of a heart that believes in truth, even though he never believed in the face of truth.

THE POET

What is the ability of a poet to the world’s worth, to the loss of the nearest? In the moonlight dims, there really is not. Just stringing words that have long existed. When I write a less sacred poem, I am grateful for what is written on this sheet if it benefits anyone. Maybe someday everything will go, then let it be a beautiful memory. Man will ultimately be the memory of those who are left behind when his presence vanishes.

When I woke up, I opened my eyes to the carved ceiling. Outside, the night was still in power and the voices of the townspeople flew from the glittering city below. Who will wait for this anxiety, where I come from? Who will display anxiety if I fail? Should I feel disappointed? Actually, I have a face that always changes over time, there are times when I feel lost in this odyssey. But actually I’m a loser, I admitted sincerely. Although people always tell me, because I’ve done the best but at the same time, I hate myself for not doing anything. I hate myself who has no power whatsoever. If I remember the years that passed, I do not want to repeat the feelings I’ve experienced, all the mistakes and anger even though I hide, for people who already know, still know.

Some people in the world avoid what some other people in the same world want when I feel these voices go into a vacuum. Some people think it’s too high up to scare it, but I’ve never tried to grandiose. I do not know, I always feel that there is something rotten behind something grandiose. If they knew, all this thought came from one’s daydream in the wooden booth. But sometimes, there is an unexpected occurrence when a work is finished, as if magical hands glued in unfathomable depths. A true verse is not just words but rather a self-discipline, which may be immeasurable. A precious moment, something when nothing means nothing. I am too naive to think God’s hand is also playing here. Maybe I am a scholar, but we are obliged to believe there is a presence of God in every event.

Actually, there are certain moments where we must still have to fight even though actually do not want to. Maybe think if you have no other hope. Apart from all the world’s uncleanness, there must be a man who believes in the power of a heart that believes in truth, even though he never believed in the face of truth. This is the gaze of someone who has experienced inner turmoil and has made the decision to become a poet. I have no idea. The earth and its contents are a very small part of the universe. For people, it turns out that the earth with this horizon is very wide. There are many things that remain a mystery to human beings. Let not the knowledge of the sky written in the holy book, even humans do not even understand who he is. The Poet.

Translate From: Sang Penyair

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7 thoughts on “THE POET

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