Bandung

By Doddi Ahmad Fauji |

IN this city of my people gemeretakan Regas. Cheating soot in the air. The streets in bunting: Maternity stall vendors, hawkers, touts, until the one-eyed villain. In the north, the pine forest migrated into the pot. Do you know why even flushing in Bahorok? Crashing the esophagus is baked? And you know, that nest dry ghost disumur-wells.
    Every afternoon until evening lingsir, I have to give alms to the cans of poverty that block the sidewalk. And a butterfly perched on the tip of Braga, decorate the city so semeriah fireworks. Sumbi, custom clothing you loose soil more fertile, farmers have pinned the grain on your crown, so the beads shimmering, golden. True, people say, God made you smile in the morning luminous.
     Now you're naked. Your body a-kara. Full ulcers, where people drink pus. There is a tattoo on your arm. You are addicted?
    Your breasts in the north and south, have been sagging like puncrut hill. Laden spots: cardboard houses, garbage, traffic police who sucks, breech streets, congestion, and so on. I nausea, vomiting, and fainting.
    I still remember, there is a hidden gap in the hills of Dago loose, with lush pine forests and curls. From the navel of the hill, gushing springs, flowing, splitting the heart. That Cikpundung. Bung Karno and the princes of Asia and Africa took off his shoes in there, wanted to savor the cool grass with bare feet who merumbai up to your groin. In the groin of your children packing straw so the camp, making catapults from reranting Moringa. Is it true that everything has been buried and will never return.
    Sumbi, the gap has become agape, cave dizinahi fatherless children: Now you're craving relestat of Parongpong to Pasirlayung, from Padalarang to Parakansaat. From your womb babies berlahiran to kill his biological mother.
    I'll come to you, bring offerings and incense, sculpture and tombs. My carving in stone nisa: Has crashed a city!

Jakarta, 2004

Photo of Vagina's Dewi Persik  
Photo source: djeblogg.blogspot.com

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Merauke

By Doddi Ahmad Fauji

FROM altitude, I can only see from a height, peak Jaya Wijaya It appeared that being thoughtful. Majestic at once arrogant. Want to grab yet unattainable, as well as your soul that holds in the interior, so simple but can not be touched. From the height of all, I see the lake Sentani foothills of the exotic with a snaking wisp of your hair, like a monster was dreaming. That's OK, as long as you do not mind the old in the deep

After all, I met someone wonderful. Johanes Gluba Gebze name. Inspiring a charismatic man. His face was like a statue carved unfinished, but his mind gushing fountain surfing. Her skin was gloomy fate of this nation, but his speech gave off enlightenment

He was sticky in the heart of society, with a charming smile greets children Merauke. And this is the children Merauke: black ants that establish nests up to 11 meters. These are the sons Merauke: kangaroos are hunted. These are the sons of Merauke: the forgotten frontier. These are the sons of Merauke: still lagging behind, but more appropriate, admit it, they are invited to be abandoned. Captured for later discarded

The man spoke in a quiet afternoon: Let us survived a moment, enjoying the dark sky without clouds. Nun in there, the souls that are still attached to the rhythms of the earth, pranced around the clumps of red fruit is a blessing. When life moves westward, off the Arafuru, it merakah the globe like a watermelon red, and jellyfish singing, circling a strange island

A foreign-awaited island alternately by the pigeons and bats. After dusk, watch pigeons. Throughout the day, bats-bats hanging in the shade flora. Gentlemen and gentlemen, distinguished officials, we are living in the east axis, from the vast realm of the archipelago, has become a faithful animal, keeping the 5200 kilometer monument that is the end of the trajectory of the republic. We do not demand retribution. We're just thrilled to read the soul of Mr. and Puan real


Jakarta, 2005

article: source

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