Poetryromance Stories

Poems from my heart

"it sucks to let you go, and i wish the boats were cruising in the same direction, but the wind takes us where we need to go. If we end up in the same place, we were meant to separate, so that we could find another again. no matter how long it will take to end up on the same island, one of us waits. If we end up in different areas, I know all that was meant to occur, has happened." this is a poetry book about a crush I've had for 6 years. the book goes in stages based on what happened and just focuses on the internal feelings of always being confused, regret and insecurity. also just dealing with letting go of someone.

Ada yg hidup hingga beratus tahun, tapi dia tidak tau apa itu cinta. Ada yg hidup hanya beberapa dekade, tapi menguasai makna cinta. perihal hidup, perihal cinta, 2 hal yg saling bersinambungan. tapi tidak seorang pun yang bisa menjelaskan bagaimana cinta bisa hadir. Tidak seorang pun yang bisa mengontrol, pada siapa cintanya akan terjatuh. Ya, yang tau hanya suara batin. bahkan kau yg lama bersamanya pun tidak akan pernah bisa menjelaskan, bukan?

This journal contains a collection of poems that I have written. Some of these poems are newer than others, and some have been rewritten. I hope you enjoy reading them and that you support me on my journey as a writer.

Fruits of thine intimate garden.

A poem about full-of-himself Edgar and the breakup text he receives

In the quiet shade of a centuries-old baoli, where lotus petals float lazily over still water, a girl from Nagpur adjusts her mogra gajra and speaks in stubborn truths. And the boy from Jaipur, in his linen kurta and silken silence, listens - like he's been waiting for her voice his whole life. She smells like mitti after rain and keeps her dreams folded in steel lunchboxes. He walks like poetry, never raises his voice, and writes letters he never sends. She calls him out on his privilege. He ties her broken sandal strap without saying a word. Their love isn't loud. It blooms quietly - like jasmine in the dark. In chai-scented afternoons. In paper cuts and poetry edits. In stolen glances by lamp-lit corridors. And in a moment under a rain-soaked archway, when he finally says: > "You are everything I never thought I deserved - but always wrote about anyway." This isn't a story of grand gestures. This is a story of soft revolutions. Of falling in love not all at once - but exactly when you didn't mean to.