Two Cups of Coffee by the Java Sea
TWO CUP OF COFFEE BY THE SEA OF JAVA (1)
In the second when the dew shows its affection on your forehead: the soft voices of prayers from the four directions meet in the stillness of the dim light leading me to prostrate without poles. There are a few stories, a drop of dew is left to paint your cheek in a small kiss, forcing me to wander on a quiet journey before dawn.
In a smile that opens red on the eastern horizon, strands of hair are embracing with the blessing of the morning. No need to be angry when the dew will cross the spirit soon. There is a bit of commotion, dissolved by the wind caressing the pores of your skin with the song being glorified in beautiful songs.
TWO CUP OF COFFEE BY THE SEA OF JAVA (2)
In the second when the dew shows its affection on your forehead: the soft voices of prayers from the four directions meet in the stillness of the dim light leading me to prostrate without poles. There are a few stories, a drop of dew is left to paint your cheek in a small kiss, forcing me to wander on a quiet journey before dawn.
In a smile that opens red on the eastern horizon, strands of hair are embracing with the blessing of the morning. No need to be angry when the dew will cross the spirit soon. There is a bit of commotion, dissolved by the wind caressing the pores of your skin with the song being glorified in beautiful songs.
The afternoon became so sweaty, but your small steps led me to the lake, found the savanna, fondled the valleys and hills, releasing revenge on those who always stabbed: "for a small victory, we start with a simple story, perfecting longing on earth."
This is a little fairy tale pinned on the infinity of the universe: children in a tireless search for a smile at the end of the day. Wouldn't two cups of coffee on the shores of the Java Sea in the twilight power write a thousand poems? And, at that time, we sang kinanti never demanded.
TWO CUP OF COFFEE BY THE JAVA SEA (3)
If there is anything left from your wanderings, let it become a dust, setting the rhythm of the encounter. There was a crash beyond the end of the island with the afternoon chant to return to the contest. There is a light of the sun caressing the night with honorable humans, continuing to dissolve in the song of the ocean: moving for the hope of the successor of the times.
Two cups of coffee on the shores of the Java Sea is enough to melt away the tiredness of the trip. I was silent, by the corners of the eyes embraced a warm puff of your lips: "the dance of ordinary people in the corners of the city is a struggle to assert love is so precious, continuing life is never simple."
That's how it is. And, let's walk familiarly with the dust mixed with dew: find the remaining small narratives of the determination to take care of life that have been recorded in conversation after conversation throughout the ages. You don't need to worry about writing in a diary, when your fingers begin to define the poem along with the curves of longing, humming slowly.
