Shadow Poet

yusuf achmad

A peaceful night is torn apart,
By your shadow, like rain that pierces glass.
Your presence rushes in, unbidden,
As if you were a renowned poem in the sky of words.
But you’re merely a fragile mask, without flesh or form.

In the realm of poetry, some are true, some deceive,
Some breathe life, but you—seemingly all a lie.
You were not made to soothe the soul,
But as a fleeting lullaby, tempting my wandering thoughts tonight.
As if the night borrowed slumber,
And you appeared, pulling me into the clutch of your false verse.

From your lips, verses are born, after your voice is arranged,
Your face shines bright, though it’s but a digital illusion.
Your hair, black as the night,
Is nothing more than an algorithm’s craft.
Ah, you disturb me, compelling me to decipher you,
Caught between reality and shifting illusions,
Your conscience emerges, whispering, “Allohu.”

That whisper pierces the soul,
Shaking my awareness like rain cleansing dust.
I collapse in the light of prayer,
Amid the songs of crickets, geckos, and the shadow of a prayer mat.
Tears stream down my cheeks,
And within the sorrow, a longing is nestled.
A longing for times, for teachers, for a message:
“Guard your heart, O devotee of Allohu.”
To preserve the clarity of my soul,
In the stillness of my yearning,
Towards the One, “Allohu.”

Surabaya, 4-12-2024