Moch Aldy MA Redaksi Omong-Omong

Tense of Your Veins: Six Poems of Yearning

4 min read

Tense of Your Veins

You’re far away, time was so insane,

and I am parable of madman.

Where is present tense?

Did a voice that sounds tense make the hearers feel tense?

 

What happens in present tense?

Does it die just like future tense?

Melt solitude eternally, just like your name,

Sempiternal in my bastard brain.

 

Yesterday as much as yesterday and the day-before,

Crept into the past, to your veins.

To the last syllable of your lips,

while all my tomorrows were lighting more

To now, perhaps, this multi-diverse present tense is a damned apocalypse.

 

This madman is an utopian afloat in your universe:

That does not have past, present or future tense,

because

I’m a madman, who always going reverse to your veins, even though my pain was so insane.

 

(2020)

 

V60 Coffee, Me And Thee

Shall I serve you v60 coffee?

And won’t you give away, a day with me?

For there are billions, of coffee-grounds in just one filter paper

For the first time since you let every drips, bliss, guttered to a cup of frigid shelter

 

When the wind, wound and hiraeth blew in the breeze

I said with a desperate, won’t you come home, please?

When you asked for a cup of desolate,

I always said hell no

This time, time flies, as butterflies, oh heavenly if the answer isn’t as so

 

So, shall I serve you v60 coffee?

While waiting you to bloom, then boom, a moment of you and me

Or shall I brew myself, sold my abandoned soul to instant coffee

Than have a cup of v60 coffee, who always sifted my agony by guarantee

 

Baby, you need to know that caffeine needs more

Courage to live his duties, than to kill himself, living his bore

But I’ll always remember our memories, glory, fantasy and felicity

A fully moment with thee, a bit of me and a far cry of v60 coffee

 

(2020)

 

Cause I Love You Without Cause

I love you, like I love the flowers in the spring.

I love you, like I love the sunrise in the morning.

I love you, like I love the milk in the mammary gland.

I love you, like I love honey in the honeycomb and their hexagonal saint.

 

And I love you like I love flowers in the winter, summer, autumn or bloom.

And I love you like I love the sunset in the afternoon, also the moon and his doom.

And I love you like I love milk in the holy grail that slowly faded by wine.

And I love you like I love honey, that never expired by the mortality of time and his vine.

 

Cause I love you to the vase, soil, muck and the root.

Cause I love you to the moon and his darkside ruth.

Cause I love you to the milk, grass, cows and the cattleman.

Cause I don’t need a cause to fall in love with you, such as becoming a honeybee or being your man.

 

(2020)

 

Myth of Word, Sword, and His Eyes

We sat on the top of our blood and his petals.

I said: ‘Have you ever seen a combination of skinny skin, hefty bones, or flesh metal?’

Like rusty anvil and austere hammer at the blacksmith,

You amuse: ‘That I fused a muse, paper and pen, word and their shroud to a keen sword without myth.’

 

But I’m not your world, I’m just a word, fuze in your picturesque eyes;

Scribble, wriggle and wiggle in a nasty, naughty, mischievous way.

Praising with a script containing tone, sign, signifier, signified the verses

And set light to your bones, while paying your attention and intention as a curse.

 

And you know what, I want to be buried, in your divine winkers.

Like a lonely philosopher, that endeavour wintry in blister.

So don’t doubt the past and future of my freaky fidelity.

Furthermore, never treat my sentences with a touch of sultry, sweaty, and salty blasphemy.

 

But baby, pardon my prickly Langue and Parole,

Cause I’ve come with: ‘A pack of envious haters, their troll and his role,

Jealous menstruational bitches, hypocritical two-faced, disgusting overacting man,

Innocent copy cat thieves, and lots of wordless, speechless, cause I was your swordman.’

 

(2020)

 

Tide of Lithium

Daydreams cold, while the blizzard hit summer pray,

To all the golden sunflower that spring nocturnal ray;

Cause my insomnia turns into dyslexia,

Lead autumn, dreams about nightmare of euthanasia.

 

So, don’t let dozy, drowsy become vain;

Sleep but couldn’t rest winter tantrum,

That drown our zest, in case farewell verse froze my testament:

That you’re cradle of lust, crush, brushed my anxious feelings like lithium

 

Before drizzle floded pillowtalk, slowly sleepwalk, and dream set his sail

Then stare blankly, says: ‘could I still see the sunray in cloudy, murky veil?

Could majestic sorrow, borrow a bunch of dreamy clouds, stormy sea, oh heavenly

If your fairy lullaby clear all the grains of sand that are full of misery’

 

I just want to dance, cuddle, kiss your forehead, kill my own madness:

Intoxicated by the crescent moon,

Constelation of stars, gorgeous sky, till wake up, soon.

Oh true ecstasy than goddamn lithium who manipulates my sadness.

 

Cause in the end, I realize, every torn has gone.

Whereas, my desire was born again, I faced the blue throne.

But, will you still be my lullaby?

If all my lithium is already wasted, and hanging in a rope of anxiety?

 

(2020)

 

Starred, Starry-Eyed

We lie on the top of the cosmic and their absurdity.

You said: ‘We are stars, star-spangled, at the end of our cynic destiny’

Then I answered: ‘To me, we are purely an Astrophile that others can’t steal;

As though star signs, star-studded, stand still but irrelevantly real’.

 

The North Star gazing at us, as Phobos and Deimos dancing;

Alas! Where is Mars, did he tingling?

And why the fuck, why didn’t Venus have moons?

Ah, did she think that the milky way is too blunt?

 

But baby did we ever notice Nebula?

A mass of dust, gas, and plasma by one colossal supernova!

Remnant; of huge, big fucking bang!

Insouciant; of duende, oh really crank!

 

Ophiuchus blurred, as well as blinded Pluto;

Outcast, out of solar system, in adagio!

While, asteroids are like paradox inside paradox.

Embezzle, merely smash or sucks Earth and the meaning of clocks.

 

Constellation of time, Zenosyne our hours.

Time after time, star-crossed, endless twinkels;

Astride to trepidation, wandering to hollowness banter.

But baby, if they say we are nothing but dust: ‘I just want to be your vacuum cleaner.’

 

(2020)

Moch Aldy MA
Moch Aldy MA Redaksi Omong-Omong

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