A Series of Your Drum Beats
That day, when I was busy climbing the ladder of poetry, when I was running away from the memories of someone. You come. Without knocking on the door, you suddenly asked my name. But not right away. I can see a sparkle to your eyes. Uh, but the beats of your drums get to me. And your presence. I wonder why? But I thought about it. I guess. This is me for the first time being hit by your stage light. Then you sing in front of me. As if the audience for your concert is just me. I smile secretly by myself in my lonely time. Smile while nodding at the beat of your drum.
Uh, so-cool, you know.
I'm also secretly a little curious. I want a self-reflection. Also want to correct the lyrics, humm, but geez! you love Hindia too! And the following days I fill my ears with your music.
Let me feel in your light. Glare, really.
But I memorized your lyrics in a matter of fingers! Then I kept getting late but I prayed that I wouldn't fall too quickly. The conclusion: why be suspicious of your gestures that I met everywhere. Which feels like here and there I stepped foot, surely our eyes met. I'm confused but at one time I also wanted to know. I secretly wanted to ask you to help find the key to my answer. Uh, but, you smell a lot of mystery. I hesitated, but instead I became more and more surrounded by the desire for the crowd—which seemed like it would be long over.
Rather than the smell of a mystery, you smell more like a sun, scorching, because you love to steal the route where sunflower seeds bathing in light, even though you knew that their age already ripe. I also heard you played drums on the school concert. But, how come I can't see the end of your voice, huh?
Your face seems to tell me through a series of your drum beats: help me live, will you? So, I just answered when you sat in front of my class: are you my number one puzzle piece?
| ♡ |
Komentar
Posting Komentar