Isykariman Biridlwanillah
I am a scavenger of your poems
Pick up every word
Dance on a mound of prose
Holding the roar of a rose
I pulled over the edge of the poem
sip a cup of the teapot
smell the aroma of petrichor around you
You're still drowning, buried by petrified homesickness
I am a scavenger of your poems
Pick up every word
Dance on a mound of prose
Gathering longing, which is not for me.
