If Not for Poetry

Yusuf achmad

If not for the love of poetry,
I am but a withering flower without radiance,
like a rose fading away in parched soil.
My stem, brittle, creaks in the silence,
sometimes my heart longs to deny
the murmurs resounding deep within.
I am not sturdy like black bamboo,
but now I follow the path of devotion,
fearful of betraying a conscience
that steadfastly supports me.

Let me trace the imprints of my fingers,
muscles reddened like the cord of life itself.
Words etched upon the glass of this small phone,
though my eyes are no longer sharp as its lens.
Yet what is written is an eternal outpouring,
a reflection of the soul
dancing on the edge of solitude.

Where will these beautiful words find rest?
Even as stories no longer ignite my heart,
this intention remains pure.
Unraveling impossible paths amidst the thorns,
staying loyal to inspiration
that persistently taps the heart.

Whether these steps are mere illusions
or signs laden with meaning,
my energy is like fleeting fibers
as midnight approaches.
Letters frolic within the lines of poetry,
at times turning into nightmares,
at times ceasing on their own.

But now, that time has passed,
allow me to take steadier strides.
Let me seek permission to realign,
rekindle the spirit and intention
that has never faltered.
Let me embrace the quiet,
for poetry is the breath of this soul.

Surabaya, 29 January 2024