Blue Sheath

Silk kembayung

The silk bedding on the horizon began to glow. His light tinge illuminated the majestic Mount Meru. The mountain where all the promises seem to be made, together with the soaring puff, as a sign, of the power of nature, which does not want its territory to be smeared, by the haughtiness of man, which is dwarfed like the Bull of Warng, and which is like a bull of warung, but speak like a powerful and rotating Milky on a path, where scattered milk that forms new lights, to spin and roll, like a ball but flattened potatoes, to turn, like a disc and drifting on a vast place boundless by the eye. And snuck in between the twins, Susundara Sumbing. Soaring through the sky. Glowing beautifully in the reflection of the morning light. Cradled eyes. Like smiling. Wishing every one who comes to touch his subtlety. And splashed by the bend of the river Prayogo. A river that crosses a city. Where all promises are made. Every pleasure. All desires in the past. To go to eternity. Until it is revealed again its existence, by the hands of curiosity. And the spring, clear glittering. Among the hot mountain ash. Redden, melt everything. Then gray, as cold as ash. The stones are haughty, the more black, by the heat, the more slippery. Every time a cold shower of water that keeps splashing and flowing all the time. Whirling down in dew points. Whose vortex rolls, amazing, dragging everything, to a jolt of deep silence. And the sharp turns are blocked by hard rock cliffs. Among the canyons, valleys and hills are mesmerizing to continue to pamper him. While staring at the fish that bathe gracefully between the legs of the batari who descend with a swing of his glory. Forest with dim trees. Not just shady. It was covered in a fog of mystery. Which blocks the sunlight from entering. To penetrate into the heart. And stuck between the rock cliffs. Limiting between two different. The low is slaving, and the high is tempestuous. To stay apart, in a difference. High and low. Low Gorge. The ravine. High desire. Coalesce. The nature choir. Kidung nestapa. Will change the world. That is so sharp. What sharp. And meet with the fir trees. Not only that. Every tree. That doesn't have to be the tree. So that all are relieved not to feel in the duakan. To continue to maintain its harmony and diversity, make the forest become more dense, more bleak. In order not to be visited, by the hands that rob him of his existence. And keep it moist.

We lived together for a long time. In the quiet house by the forest. Managing the fields, working on the rice fields. While staring at the dew spots. Cold washed. Keep our minds, to keep cool. Not full of anger. For the sake of maintaining a norm. Which has been torn. And it must be reorganized. Its path. So that what deviates, will return straight, in accordance with the rules that apply. And back to its existence in the social sphere that surrounds the tiny house edge hamlet. Which is not neglected by the surrounding, community, and other environments.

Even the twilight bed closed his eyes.