Yet dimensions have distanced us with invisible connection.
Oh…. How I Miss You So
Only wish and pray I can send through speechless wireless across the elements.
Oh…. How I Miss You So
Dream, dream, dream, dear love. Life is but a dream. I hope we visit each other In each of our good dreams, Before we wake up and together we stream.
Oh…. How I Miss You So
It doesn’t matter and it doesn’t count Even how I miss you most; like a tiny penny in a billionaire’s account: Missed and forgotten through space and time.
Oh…. How I Miss You So
It rains again which I love the most As the longing for you gets swept away By the water falling and gliding on the window: sweetly cold.
Oh…. How I Miss You So ….
Yet this stubborn heart Still sings in silence Alone with clear sweet voice Without doubt That someday this feeling will fade away, Leaving a good memory through time and space.
Listen, this is an ode To a secret love:
Oh…. How I Miss You So —
—
daydreaming in a rainy day – RC Gorman’s “Woman with Poppies”
A lady is walking to the lake. An empty clay jar sits on her waist. Her hair is hanging loose, Listening to love songs, waving to the sky.
Sitting, she looks down Saying hi to her reflection on and on. My hair, thanks for growing long And for listening to my love songs.
A lady is walking back to home. A clay jar full of water sits on her waist. Her hair is waving by the wind: Spreading patchouli fragrance, calming down the lane.
Walking, she looks forward Humming her best love songs. My hair, thanks for spreading good scent And making my life so fragrant. My hair, thanks for being silken And keeping this flame ardent. My hair, grow grow long. My hair, listen to these love songs. My hair, stay here Until home is welcoming me.
—
Each and every one deserves love and appreciation. Today I took longer time to scrutinise and caress my hair; this stubborn tough protein deserves love and appreciation, too.
A hymn for my hair is not too much, an extra love after shampoo to clean, conditioner to soften and sometimes hair dye to match the mood.
my definition of beautiful day: long hair after treatment at the weekend 🥰 (RC Gorman’s artwork, from Pinterest)
Love makes heart full. Love makes heart empty. Love makes heart laugh. Love makes heart cry. Love makes heart closer. Love makes heart distant. Love makes heart trust. Love makes heart distrust. Love makes heart bloom. Love makes heart wither. Love makes heart healed. Love makes heart broken. Love makes heart warm. Love makes heart cold. Love makes heart enlightened. Love makes heart blinded. Love makes heart beautiful. Love makes heart wicked. Love makes heart bright. Love makes heart weary. Love makes heart sing. Love makes heart scold. Love makes heart write love poem. Love makes heart compose hate speech. Love makes heart recite ballads. Love makes heart scream hoax. Love makes heart look foolish. Love makes heart look angry. Love makes heart love more. Love makes heart hate more.
Love makes heart swing like a pendulum between two ends.
You say love is You say love is not You ask what is love
Love makes space To those willing To feel, To taste, To experience Millions of what’s-nots To know The what-is.
We decide Which space To be filled With what.
This is about love— An unlimited edition But still Difficult to grab.
—
missing home where love is as simple as opening the door ajar to let the breeze in – please bless me oh Allah…. this poor soul 💝 thanks for everything
You Have got everything: A sweetest smile, A cheery hello, A loving look, A warm hug, A good kiss All in loving care.
Yet in all daydreams of closeness and connection….
I wish to give You a warm kiss, Yet impossible As You are too high Up the sky;
I hope to give You a pretty daffodil Yet unlikely As You are too disguised Behind the curtain;
I want to spread for You a good breakfast Yet too early As You wake up too late In another day;
I want to paint You a red torii Yet too trivial As You know torii much Better than me;
I am writing You secret love poems Yet in vain As You don’t even care They exist.
Beloved, Breath is with what I count life. Breath is in what I save love. Breath is on what I paint faith. A warm kiss, A pretty daffodil, A good breakfast, A red torii, And secret love poems Have livened this breathing Although You have got A sweetest smile, A cheery hello, A loving look, A warm hug, A good kiss All in loving care.
Beloved, I only wish You behind the curtain See me breathing For and with You.
—
This long weekend of Eid Al-Adha is turning to brighter space with slow breathing, daydreaming and chili party.
Happy Eid Al-Adha, family and friends. Hope we are blessed with closeness and connection with the Source of Love.
Alhamdulillah 💝
RC Gorman’s – what an inspirational picture for chili lovers 😁
I’ll send You postcards. Cards with white flower On white paper And some messages On white ink That will glow When You bring it to the dark. Only You and I know what it is Until one day You bring the light To burn it or frame it.
—
Dear you…. 💝
postcards draft for friends – not perfect, yet purely poured from the heart
How much time Is good to meet Old friends? Neither hours Nor minutes; A bowl of dessert Is good enough To throw jokes, To exchange laughter, Before the next page After PTO.
—
see you next time! those who didn’t clean the bowls paid! 😁
Love is Unseen rope Invisibly tying Sparkling souls.
Love is Interconnected network Constantly connecting All computers.
Love is Moving air Secretly exchanged Through breathing.
Love is An attached context Building meaning In a statement.
Love is A medium Conveying messages To a ready recipient.
And what is not Is not.
—
Years of experience has brought me to an understanding that subtle sensitivity is one of the keys to understanding, genuineness, boundary and security.
Welcome to genuine hearts. Good bye to tricky engagements.
Today I’m in love again with those around me who never give up on my clumsiness and insensitivity and with myself who becomes more patient and acceptant.
Salaam. 💝
“3 sisters with love in heart” in progress – thanks for being older than me, you both are beautifully blessed ♥️♥️♥️
It seems raining behind the hills. Dark blue curtain Hanging from heaven Dances through her own rhythm.
Will it rain under the tree? You asked. Rain will pour down to the ground, Tree is your canopy. Will it flood on the pathway? You asked. Flood will turn to the river, Pathway is your journey. Will it be sunny? You asked. Sun shines with no holiday, Sunday is when you think you are free. Will you meet me? You asked. I am meeting you Through the rain and flood With the sun and cloud Everyday Without holiday. You seem to worry about the rain. The rain behind the hills? Dark blue curtain Hanging from heaven Dances with your rhythm. Keep walking, You see.
There is no natural conflict on earth. When there is conflict, it must have been because of wrong thinking model installed in the nerve system.
Why?
Because everything is coherent in the universe.
How scientific but disappointing! Her life craves for drama Like her brain craving for sugar.
Fix the point of view Or the distance of view Or the angle of view Or whatever to see things clearly To save my own life For comfort? For sanity? For (false) equilibrium? For clarity!
Sometimes I’m somebody At a conference room Where win-win Isn’t always a solution. Powerful— Decisive—
Sometimes I’m anybody When long lost friends Suddenly say hi and cry “Would you please help? Would you help?” Unconditional— Used—
Sometimes I’m everybody When I blindly devote myself, When I wholeheartedly do everything needed, When I run around everywhere to find you. Preoccupied— Stand-alone—
Sometimes I’m nobody When I feel my heart beats, My breath slows down with calmness, When I know nobody is with me. Blissful— Submissive—
Thanks, my body. You’re a complete gift to me.
I dedicate the above free verse to Emily Dickinson who has touched my life with many of her poems especially “I’m Nobody! Who are you?”
🐣
Salaam.
this poem was introduced by Ibu Siti Parwati Soemarto, our lecturer who always challenged her students to bravely see who we truly are – 28 years ago! damn I’m an old nobody! how bitterly fair life is! Terima kasih, Ibu Soemarto. 💝
Have you heard of the word home? I often think of what it is And where it is.
My friends all say it. That it is where shelter is, That it is where family is, That it is where safety is, That it is where heart is, That it is this earth that spins, Blah blah blah, That it is this, That it is that.
What is a home?
I’m not as intelligent as they are. I can only tell what’s not a home. Sometimes my apartment isn’t a home. Sometimes my childhood home isn’t a home. Sometimes I don’t feel safe staying in this safest place. Sometimes my heart is flying across the ocean while I’m sitting in the sofa. This earth is traveling to where I don’t know. Sometimes I just don’t believe what my friends say about home. I’m sorry for being not so intelligent as all of you are.
I will keep identifying what’s not home Until I’m home.
Money Count it Save it Spend it … Whatever wanted, Decided Through a nature … They grow together. … What a show! It gives relief And chokes At the same. … Hey, Money! You’re so genuinely Mirroring me.
—-
One wise friend told us that money will not change a human being into a good one; it only resonates what is.
Look at Scrooge McDuck. He may be naturally greedy and stingy. When he has all those dollars and coins, he doesn’t even pay Donald Duck decent salary as an employee who is at the same time his relative. His money resonates his nature!
Look at Belle. She may be naturally kind and intelligent in a small village. When she becomes the wife of a rich Beast, she is kind in even larger society. Wealth resonates her nature!
Undeniably the only matter most people want to dive in after water is probably money. It makes life breathable they said. Hilariously true, paradoxical.
Note: Money, a non discriminative belief system that will either makes someone’s life truly meaningfully valuable or vaguely temporarily luxurious. Our choice! Remember that $100 here is $100 there, no matter what one’s ethnic groups, race, religion, age, gender, sexual orientation, political interest, etc is.
Breathing in Breathing out The air is flowing Pumping freshness to the blood Pushing the recyclable out.
Time units are agreed. If passed, something is overdone. If missed, something is given up. If right on, moment is created.
Breath is my chosen time unit That I prudently save Between two points That I travel in.
How many will I take? I don’t even know Or how many have I taken? I’ve lost count.
It’s as accurate as your digital timepiece, Or as elegant as your mechanical winding. Our time is as precious, Yet we count with different tools.
Alas! Don’t ask me to walk faster Just because you run. Don’t tell me to stay put Just because you sit.
Life is short Yet expensive to lament If we don’t cross the path, It’s simply because of Simple word: Decision Because Fate sometimes doesn’t seem to fit. Whose decision? I don’t know. I’ll just breathe Until the sun moves in reverse.
It’s silence Filling the air, Expanding time that kills With infinity and mystery.
This strand has threaded millions of pearls of breathing taken one by one. This is also a ribbon that goes miles and miles scripted with memories loaded with emotions.
There is one last pearl and there is a period. Only time knows at which point—
Only flowers can fill the gap while waiting. They are food and garnish at the same time, Bride and groom, Prayer and curse, Bright and pale, Symbolised and clarity, Birth and death, Duality in one bouquet.
This lounge feels alive With the flower arrangement sitting at the corner, Silently Accompanying everyone Waiting to depart.
————
Life is forever, crossing one bridge to another. Alfatihah.
Colours will fade away At the front gate of A new season, Leaving beautiful memories To the garden.
No regret, Beloved If all are infused with love. No right, No wrong. Only lessons, And wisdom Imprinted—
Cycle is short; Life is forever. Each of the pearls in a strand is perfect when it’s loose. And so is a cycle in your life—
If I owe you one cycle, Beloved, I’ll come back With a bunch of fruits Ready to harvest. Ready to taste By your own senses—
See you again, Beloved. Choose what seed you want me to grow.
—————————————————————-
tulip losing some petals
Flowers losing petals is a natural phase before plants are harvested for the fruits, the bulbs or other parts. Or, the flowers are the ones harvested to experience falling petals before they dry out naturally. It’s an end of one cycle at the same time a start of another.
That you feel Better, Smarter, Luckier, Richer, Prettier Than others
Might Not Be Self worth, Beloved.
—————————————————————
Today’s discussion with some friends was about self worth. One head, one point of view—
My own understanding about self worth has evolved. Its turning point was in 2009 after a broken heart. World was ruined. Hope was (almost) zero. The worst was the way I was cut from the relationship; it made me feel of having no self worth. It was a time of emotionally shutting down like an un-charged computer; functional intellectually and physically but not emotionally— zombie in the making.
Dumbest young me!
I thought self worth was when I was do things better than others. Or, knowing more than others. Or, given a lot of things out of the blue as if winning lucky draws again and again. Gaining financial freedom and material things. Or feeling prettier than others (this one very seldom) at least prettier than Bob, my cat.
What is self worth in my system?
— self worth is about utilitarianism. Miriam Webster dictionary says utilitarianism is a doctrine that the useful is the good and that the determining consideration of right conductshould be the usefulness of its consequences; specifically a theory that the aim of action should be the largest possible balance of pleasure over pain or the greatest happiness of the greatest number.
If I’m good. So what? What have I done for my own self at the same time for others by being good, smart, lucky, financially independent?
If being good, smart, lucky, financially independent doesn’t bring benefits to others; where’s my worth? Is worth to self not enough, said someone. Not wrong; if the perspective of ‘self’ is about taking. In fact, life is always about giving and taking, or taking and giving.
“The best of people are those that bring most benefit to the rest of mankind,” said Islamic wisdom. It is equivalent with “urip iku urup” in Javanese wisdom.
Lo! No matter what people perceive about me as long as I do good to my own self and surrounding with good will, so be it.
May all beings be happy. 🪶
books to be shipped to Yogyakarta, for one of my best friends who opens a library in a small village 💝 I’m happy that what I read will be utilised for others’ good. 🐣
The play-smart mind told me “Find what’s the cause.”
The relaxed mind of me replied “Alamak… It’s just a metal.”
The play-pretty mind said “But it is now less pretty!”
The play-wise mind said “Small one. I’m just being careless. Ok!”
The greedy mind said “That’s a good reason to buy new ones!”
From behind the door, the naive one said “Why so noisy? It doesn’t kill.”
…… #@$%^&*!
And the core is just smiling, not even opening its eyes.
————————————————————
When talking to one’s own self, one should be ready to feel like crazy inside because one will suddenly realise even within one there are this one and that one, each of whom is craving for attention and needing entertainment.
Get entertained instead and they’ll be the most attractive acrobatics!
May all beings be happy.
dear dream catchers, I won’t buy new ones – you’ll stay as long as the dreams are flowing and vibrating 💕
I want to want I want to not want I don’t want to want I don’t want to not want
Which one am I now?
————————————————————
As long as I’m human being, I won’t be able to deny the want and not want. It’s not the verb, it’s the subject. A complication of thinking!
I don’t want to love you but I want to free myself to love one staying in the heart. That’s perfection!
In fact the struggle seems like a perfect circle when two ends collides: things don’t always happen as expected. Then what appears is that the simplicity of acceptance is above perception.
Simplicity is the crown of perfection. 💝
Alhamdulillah….
just do things right – when you’re angry, be angry but just do it right
This silence is so eloquent,
But still needs clarification.
What did you just say?
That love is blind?
That love is dumb?
That love is numb?
What did you just say,
Beloved?
Silence weeps bitterly.
Love is candid.
Love is painful.
Love is funny.
Love is simple
As simple as none....
Love is—
Hush!
Don’t trick me with words
Or numbers.
The beauty of silence shouts more loudly than what you’ve uttered.
Bluff with verbs, not adjectives.
Walking hand in hand is more beautiful than telling me beautiful.
Not to be a grammarian, Beloved.
Use the grammar well.
Someday you’ll receive an unwritten book of love with which thousands of poems are softly breathed to survive this pain.
Do you mind whispering an address, Beloved?
This silence is dramatically eloquent but indeed much better than Korean drama.
—
reading grammar book is fun but practicing the grammar is like falling in love—nervous and excited.
No, Beloved.
You are not red
You are not yellow
You are not blue
Only.
You are all gradationally spread from one point to another,
Occupying Space,
Led by Time.
Time makes all matter.
It becomes every milestone of journey.
It gives chances to clarify the direction of journey.
It sets free what should be said and what should be held back. Enjoy.
Space is a secondary supporting detail.
It doesn’t talk about the essence of journey.
It shows what’s been hoarded by a traveler.
It neglects what’s importance.
It helps slow down when break is needed
But at times it obscures the signs and messages. Beware!
Stay where you are, Beloved with no nerves
Knowing that space won’t corrupt you.
It is a lining of colours in different levels of degree that beautifies your existence.
Don’t quit, Beloved whichever the speed is
Knowing that time sharpens your perceptive.
It is what will be weighed and presented as a gift.
You see that, Beloved?
Or not?
Oh, I know you’re tipsy!
😁
—
A free verse about time and space between the Lover and the Beloved.
Bored to death! Thanks God it’s Monday tomorrow!
Singapore - Jan. 17, 2021 / 22:00
gradation can make things either bright, dull, intriguing, boring — focused or bokeh, both are beautiful
Tears are millions of pairs of legs
That find their way to escape pain
And hide slowly by the heat of the day.
Will it be recognised?
Their journeys belong to this body
That grows old on a curve of age,
Born and died along one same line.
Will it be remembered?
Don’t be afraid to let the teardrops out
And release them with no doubt.
They won’t leave you for nothing.
They travel,
They evaporate.
They ship your baggage
That might be excessive if you carry them home at the same time.
Let the teardrops out
And celebrate them with no regret.
They will wait right in front of your home door.
They prepare a house warming for you,
They make your bed for you to rest.
They unpack all your luggage
That might tire you if you do it yourself at the same time.
Tears are millions of pairs of legs
That run to the ocean where you’ll unite with the Beloved
And never be lost again....
Cherish the tears!
A free verse from a heart that cries everywhere with no reason….
rike jokanan 
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