Routine Cubicle Poem by Ibnu Din Assingkiri
Routine Cubicle
Dust lying face down
Afflicted by dawn’s drizzle
Birds’ cold
While the morning too quiet
Grasses are bowing,
Under the sorrow sky...
Fatigue foot clopping
On wet stone path,
Hammering asphalt’s crack
Like a drum of death
Mourning slowly in
The tempo of Andante.
Behind that door,
Labyrinth of self-motivation
Gradually decomposed by
Confined and oppressed
Of bime still,
In a routine cubicle.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/17/2024 10:58:08 PM # 1.0.0.1119
