On Forgotten Things

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Oftentimes, I am overwhelmed in my own thoughts, drowning in what others think about me, forgetting my true calling: to create.

I can’t remember how to enjoy small things in life or the sweetness of chocolate or the warmth of my old blanket in a rainy day.

I can’t remember the little, simple kindness in life.

I can’t recall enjoying family dinner, devouring fried chicken and steamed white rice my Mother made.

I do not remember those who always stay. Always pray with their knees bent, eyes staring hopefully to the sky. Always faithful though we are a million miles away.

I often forget those beautiful things. I am slowly sinking to the ocean of others’ opinions and how I’m supposed to respond to them. I forget how to breathe.

“No, their opinions don’t matter to you,” my soul reminds me. “but those green leaves in Winter do.”

Because they show me what it means to live. The clumps of cloud, slowly move in a cloudy day, are my true, precious company in silence.

I regret those times I spend for meaningless thoughts on people’s opinion. They are the noises that kill my childhood dream. They soon kill my soul, my sanity.

May it’s not too late to pursue my dreams, I plea.


Indiana, April 23rd, 2019
Photo by Mikhail Nilov

This poetry was first published in Bahasa Indonesia.

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