Twilight is a sort of farewell impressive. Golden light flashing on the window glass high-rise buildings, swept away like a giant brush beauty. Cloud-opt, as driven gods hands.
Yellow light shot sun raced. Bias in motion like a sudden change of street dance. Bias on the billboards. Bias in the drizzle splash of the fountain. among the purple clouds. Then the sky is like painting the time, like the motion of the space, which soon disappeared. Yellow light that grew dusk orange street watering, flushing all the feelings that feeling of self harm. Why not stop for a moment from the ceremony of life?
Light streaking raced, refracted, and stroked the hair of a woman waving in the wind and from behind the hair light mengertap long earrings are not too sparkly and not too bright so it can stare like a kind of beauty which soon looked lost, like happiness.
Playing in the twilight sky auto glass and glass-glass shop window. Street lamps light up. The wind hardened. Dusk to play above the villages. Above the roof-tiles. Above the leaves. Settles into the streets. Settles into the gutter. Sewage puddles that never move shows who is playing the twilight sky.
There rest of the kite in the sky, fighting in the darkness. There is a futile attempt to reflect on his motorcycle rear-view mirror. There are yanked from the dangdut music shop. Maid-servant carrying a baby behind the fence. The sky grew orange, the purple. Golden light turned into gloom. Turned to the dark shadows. Ball of the sun sinking in the horizon, far, far outside the city. And the town lived happily in the shadow of death a light flirtation electricity. And so the days passed.
The lights of passing vehicles to form a long strand of white light and red light is also long. Children's faces seller Newspapers and magazines in the red light was darkened. They offer evening newspapers and magazines to stop every car window. The stars in the sky peeking clean. A woman, somewhere along the line, ran a lipstick to her lips.
Night has fallen in Jakarta. Over the kitchen of a bar, a little too high, I wrote a poem about the love.
Post a Comment