eight pm something

the desk remains there, and the hills of unfinished works dominates the landscape of the cubical. sub directorate one is where i perform my daily routines now, and it is offering me treats of old jobs in new faces: never ending news that penetrate the time. anyone who occupies the seat must feel the heat. be prepared for sudden exams without prior lectures. papers, talking points, speeches and reports are but a few assignments to be consumed along with 'teh tarik' and black coffee.

these days the emmisaries, the extraordinary and the plenipotentiary ones, are flocking home. down there sharing a table with the head of state. i too share a table in my cubical, with colleagues like donna-donna-donna (yes like the song goes).

eight pm something, and soon the light will be switched off.

starlight

news from darfour
and from kinshasa
arrived at my desk
almost simultaneously:

two torch bearers,
carrying the glow from the stars,
walk through the nights
courageously.

food seller at night

i captured this image in an occassion of visiting a museum in jakarta, one night in september 2009.

there are night foodstalls around this museum particularly during weekends. this one is a picture of a man selling fried bananas, taufus, and sweet-potato dumplings. behind him is a stall selling drinks. hot and cold are available.

i took other pictures of those sellers. i like the contrast bright produced by the oil-lamp they are using.

kids again

will is in town. and so is husin. my semi-cousins. how glad i did feel when the three of us spent the night together in front of wide television screen, building towers in that playstation game, laughing and teasing at each other just like when we were thirteen. throwing pillows, spilling water - cold water, and other non-essential things for the sake of kidding.

shades of blue

my blue pencil has new friends.
i've got fourty eight new non-toxic faber-castells in my disposal,
my colours, my rainbows to draw something colossal:
such as clouds that will never turn into raindrops or snowfalls,
images that often penetrate my midnight hiding walls,
faces, names, landscapes, places unknown near or far,
think i can sketch thousands of pictures, or maybe, none at all...

red fridays

i think this is an ideal december should be like. haa..!

with red fridays decorating the calendar and filling our hearts with gratitude.

thankful that we have long weekends.

i can go home and fill my days reading my unfinished books.

(friends and relatives can have their wedding parties organised, hoho).

will is here too; he comes from lemgo.

this past weekend we had islamic new year holiday; next week, christmas; and the one after that, new year. oi oi oooi... so nice.

meanwhile i am back to the tales from the arabian nights nowadays. i am reading them again. one tale each night. and i am still impressed by every ending of each tale. such creativity and unthinkable twist are refreshing, you know. some of the tales seem new to me, which is great.

i hope you also have a good time this december. may you fall on the side of the luck, may you be surrounded by friends and family, and if none of these is yours, may the blessings find you in your solitude.

green is the colour

heavy hung the canopy of blue
shade my eyes and i can see you
white is the light that shines through the dress that you wore.

she lay in the shadow of the wave
hazy were the visions of her playing
sunlight on her eyes but moonshine made her cry everytime.

green is the colour of her kind
quickness of the eye deceives the mind
envy is the bond between the hopefull and the damned.