Din, Pol

I want to repeat our conversation one afternoon,
on the grass, in front of the cafeteria: people are coming
plant a tree in the yard and we become
strangers laid down inside

The road to Lueng Bata is too narrow, you're burning
on a motorbike that would not budge: ah,
why the streets are full of mud, you say, when it rains
no longer coming, the ground is chapped

we want to plant trees, write you in a short message
to someone who always writes
rhymes cheerfully: where is the field to go
and the streets to the arid house

You melted like a clock, someone
no longer reading your short message, let alone sending
the streets you have to go through: he has been thrown off
to a city, quiet and foreign

really sting, looking for leafy leaf
in the middle of broken trees
the wind often incarnated waves that rolled
travel maps

but we still need to plant trees to make this page shady
You're mumbling alone.

Depok, 200706
MUSTAFA ISMAIL