Hari pukul satu; tengah malam
kereta ini membawaku, padamu yang terlelap.
Barangkali aku hadir dalam mimpimu; Aku Ingin.
Ah... Subuh masih lama, dan
jarak masih membentang.
Aku ingin segera terbaring,
dalam dekapanmu.
Cirebon, 13 Juni 2017
| SLEEPLESS I listen to the surge and drone | |
| And drifting roar of the town’s undertone; | |
| Till through quiet falling rain I hear the bells | |
| Tolling and chiming their brief tune that tells | |
| Day’s midnight end. And from the day that’s over | 5 |
| No flashes of delight I can recover; | |
| But only dreary winter streets, and faces | |
| Of people moving in loud clanging places: | |
| And I in my loneliness, longing for you... | |
| For all I did to-day, and all I’ll do | 10 |
| To-morrow, in this city of intense | |
| Arteried activities that throb and strive, | |
| Is but a beating down of that suspense | |
| Which holds me from your arms. I am alive | |
| Only that I may find you at the end | 15 |
| Of these slow-striking hours I toil to spend, | |
| Putting each one behind me, knowing but this— | |
| That all my days are turning toward your kiss; | |
| That all expectancy awaits the deep | |
| Consoling passion of your eyes, that keep | 20 |
| Their radiance for my coming, and their peace | |
| For when I find in you my love’s release. Siegfried Sassoon (1886–1967). Picture-Show. 1920. |
| SHE walks in beauty, like the night | |
| Of cloudless climes and starry skies; | |
| And all that 's best of dark and bright | |
| Meet in her aspect and her eyes: | |
| Thus mellow'd to that tender light | 5 |
| Which heaven to gaudy day denies. | |
| One shade the more, one ray the less, | |
| Had half impair'd the nameless grace | |
| Which waves in every raven tress, | |
| Or softly lightens o'er her face; | 10 |
| Where thoughts serenely sweet express | |
| How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. | |
| And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, | |
| So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, | |
| The smiles that win, the tints that glow, | 15 |
| But tell of days in goodness spent, | |
| A mind at peace with all below, | |
| A heart whose love is innocent! George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron. 1788–1824 |
and I am thinking,
May your day deserve to be
A national holiday
Coz you are special
Coz you are wonderful
and I am thinking,
How thankful I am to know you
You brighten my life
Fill it with joy, loving smiles, and caring looks
That no one can replace
Today is your day
No breathtaking presents are given to you
No sparkly jewelries are here for you
No tremendous verses
In the twilight heavens you’ll see
A blinking star wishes you…
Wishes you lifelong
Wishes you good fortune and,
Wishes you blissful always
As you made me
What life would be like
Without you, since
You mean very much to me
More than you can know
Happy Birthday!
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.