Grey Shirt and Chair

yusuf achmad

The shirt is faded—its color worn and dull,
Not like the morning bloom that graces the garden’s lull.
Its sandals frayed along the seams, still faithfully they lie
By fractured steps that carried days too weary to deny.
Perhaps they’ve walked through time that words can’t quantify.

The sky now stretches like a wistful dawn in pause.
That old chair sinks into silence, a still and solemn cause.
It once held burdens—bodies bent with care and plea,
Guests who came and went with hope, with sorrow, silently.
Back then my morning shone, the birds were green, not blue,
They circled a home lit up like stars shining true.

Now I wait—though colors change, the pulse remains—
The shirt, the chair, the birds—they’re not the same.
This is no longer morning filled with songs that rise;
It’s the dusk that leans toward night, with softer skies.
My hope and longing—one, two, three… who’s keeping score?—
I entrust to winds that lift tomorrow’s lore,
To stir new hues, to cradle wounds the chair once bore,
Like morning blossoms that never fade nor sore,
Held in my shirt’s embrace, my chair’s worn core,
And in this self—faithful evermore.

Surabaya, July 4th, 2025