This heart is flowing fluid Filling the soul with Redness of bravery And rage; Pinkness of romance And lust; Orangeness of warmth And attention craver; Yellowness of glory And jealousy; Greenness of tranquility And envy; Blueness of peace And mourning; Whiteness of singularity, And fear; Blackness of mystery And death. When the soul blinks, A spectrum ray chutes down On to the ocean of mind, Illuminates what’s to solve.
Is your face dyed as your heart is dyed, Beloved? And your words Your footsteps Your breaths Touch?
It sways flexibly In stormy days. It grows calmly In sunny days. It roots perennially In the meadow.
It sings; It hums; It mutes; It sees; It hears; It touches; It tastes; It smells; In silence Perfectly.
It does well.
—
these flowers survive the storm and continue living in bright days on and on and on between those two situations only through a friendship with the meadow 💝
This life is a library Keeping all collections, Reference to public, Exclusive to a lover, One lover. The Beloved—
Read, Beloved Any scrolls In this library.
Read, Lover The diaries In the secret dungeon.
Read, Beloved With naked eyes, or With any glasses on the shelves.
Read, Lover Through letters and numbers, Shapes and colours.
Read, Beloved This library is open As long as you are awake.
Read, Lover Before you sleep When I’ll be reading you through.
—
my earlier diaries are true stories through naked eyes; the later are colours, shapes, numbers, words in various styles and figures of speech needing some tricks and tips to sense layers of meanings and information — we are all writers, librarians and readers 💝
Home is Where an equation is done. X factor is found, Balance is placed, Abundance is defined Although life is never perfect.
Home is Where the most important things gather. Love is respected. Respect is loved. Priority is defined Although life will never be perfect.
Home is Where a painting is displayed. Colours are combined, Shapes are drawn. Beauty is defined And imperfect life is accepted.
—
that one tall white tree in the middle is the eucalyptus tree decided to cut down for the sake of the house to built in a nice spot; thank you, eucalyptus; it is unfortunate that you could not be replanted with some reasons — as much as I love you (so so much), I prefer respect for a home with other trees breathing with me 💕
Drag me to your heart Even if it hurts my head, Said I.
I know you’re teasing Even when I mean it, Said I.
I smile in silence Letting you laugh in joy. Sad I’m.
Enjoy it. Enjoy your days, Said I.
I walk away Leaving the last piece of my heart. Dragging my luggage Alone. Smiling. Winning Against my own sigh.
To you, who secretly teasing again and again and again and again. Thank you. Life is full of fun. 💗
—
no lift! let’s go, baby!
….and yes! became the last one even behind the gorgeous senior Japanese ladies! thanks God not the aluminium suitcase that can’t be dragged without hurting both its body and my heart 😂
A line of this heart remembers What’s not even in memories. Flowing clean river hidden in the sky— The other line of this heart remembers Only what’s imprinted through relations. Murky pool standing around the earth—
Don’t have the right to be missed With these limited memories. This sky is hidden by the cloud— Don’t have the right to be remembered With absence of relations. This earth is full of locked doors.
Can only miss what’s not imprinted. Can only remember what’s hidden. Still beautiful Still amazing Yet hidden Yet secretive Circled around between hearts That read what’s not inky written.
There’s an end To a dream. It’s when coming true Or coming dead. And that’s the light at the end of a tunnel Of light Of wide spectrum In which we’re prancing.
Choose your colour.
—
you don’t remember me, I do; you don’t see me, I do; you don’t hear me, I do; you don’t smell me, I do; you don’t taste me, I do; you don’t touch me, I do — when you close the door, I stay yet I’m blocked from you 💗
My mother said You were a cute baby Even when crying.
My mother said You were a beautiful toddler Running around, Bubbling all words.
My mother said You were a cheerful girl Cycling around Climbing up trees Playing drowning in the river.
My mother said You were a beautiful woman Arguing every ideas from me Showing me your strong desires Moving to where life brought us.
My mother said You are an adult woman Enjoying life differently from me Giving me what you’ve promised to be Loving what you love with no doubt Living life with smiles and warm heart.
My mother said I love you I bless you Wherever you are. You’re loved You’re blessed However you are.
—
My mother called, we laughed a lot today. She said I laughed as I did when I was a baby. How happy I have been to be her daughter. Lots of hugs and kisses, Ibu.
Cold morning switched off the air conditioner. Whistling wind wildly knocked on the glass door. Windy rain greeted Sunday morning. What dry hanging got re-soaked — a basket of potentially re-wash.
May kindness be absent for a while? May a pinch of disappointment be sprinkled? May a drop of despair be shared today?
A promise was wished To smile, To laugh, Or to just close eyes in unbearable And sleep away, Or to make noise among fire, water and oil, Or simply splash some ink on paper or wall—
Claimed— That this noisy weather Is less noisy than the kitchen. And it turns back to a blessed day.
—
Sometimes it only takes some kitchen noise to save a Sunday.
when you feel bad, boil vegetables and other stuff 🥺and make them the best gado-gado on earth for this morning’s breakfast! Ok, Sunday, I will stay home the whole day while you get soaked by rain 🙃
Root of a tree Who grows in in the dark, Breathes with the creepy crawly, Sleeps in none of seasons. Silently grateful for What’s not understood.
Cartilage of a human body Who is not hard enough to be bone, Not soft enough to be muscle, Comfortably sits in between, Catches messages delivered By whisper, breeze and wind.
Jasmine sambac of the garden Who is humbly tiny, clustering; Blooms the whole year, Leaves much fragrance to the day, Deep meaning to celebration Before she dries brown.
Helium of the sun Light, low, odourless, tasteless, insipid— It’s peaceful to be low profile, It’s more joyful and freer, It’s easier to be me, Closer to Gaia.
Yet no secret bandit among The rascals in the block!
What?!
What what?! Don’t ask. I can be anything But You.
—
Rainy weekend is good especially when just have to shortly reply “Ok!” to a message saying “Heavy rain. Impossible to bike. Rain check ya.”
My beloved said You need pens, I give you trees. You need ink, I give you oceans. Write love poems with love Until you run out of paper.
I said I need much paper I want as much as I want My love poems are trillions and more.
My beloved said I won’t let you write forever The last paper is not for you It is for me to invite poets for a party Where a special spread is ready.
I asked How much paper will I get Will you give me as much as I want Will you let me write trillions of love poems?
My beloved said Write as much as you want I’ll give you as much as you write You’ll get your paper for your trillions As long as they’re yours.
My beloved said Be dignified, write your own poems, As the spread will be only for those Not claiming from others’ names.
—
big lunch, mini spread for my hard work today – my parents’ message about how to enjoy luxury of life: be dignified to “eat” what you’ve worked and share with love 🙏🏼
The depth of silence is As deep As ocean of possibilities. Shaken, the ocean will splash Drops of gifts.
Time once revealed When the gifts will appear. It once said There is a moment in time.
Space once revealed Where the gifts will arrive. It once said There is a point in space.
Spacetime once revealed Why the gifts will engender. It once said There are reasons in life: Unfortunately wrapped In colours and shapes, Often times disguising things: A crow into a dove, A wolf into a sheep, A dumpsite into a garden, A villainess into a heroine, An evil witch into a kind queen, Bent into straight— Misleading this traveler’s direction.
Once it was said There is One That she will find Somewhere some time only if She minds.
Dear, Light. Only You can reveal True colours True shapes True hearts True reasons.
Be deeply silent Even in the crowd Where ocean of possibilities Is shaken In this spacious time.
Hey! The gift is relatively fair, Beloved. Be ready.
—
🌊
when window nook is ready for daydreaming, no book, no paper, no gadget – just her welcoming gifts
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 😁
rike jokanan 
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