Phizzog by Sukasah Syahdan
standing in front of a mirror you recall it said: to hinge upon time is self-delusion tomorrows and days after, longevity or ephemeron are mere matters of illusion
at twilight or dawn being singularly alone, or with a once-beloved one, you realise that sweet words, too, have finally abandoned you
a few ripples of the musi remnants of the danube once blue carved upon the forehead salty hairs that fall onto your sagging shoulders gushed sounds to the ears: bang, bang!
to whom does this phizzog belong should be no crucial question if only you could summon a daring, long-gone, emotion (Budapest-Jakarta, 1993-1999)
|