NAGARA

Towards dusk, my steps arrived at Senggigi Beach the sun is only seven inches from the horizon As I thought, the sun will look as red as anger that I always keep deep, even though it's hard Anger, my father said, is not good to spill On Senggigi beach, in beautiful Lombok men and women, young and old be a pilgrim and a mere prayer all close to the sea let the body be licked by the tongue of the waves then stare blankly into the clouds then ducked down and cast a spell then raise a sliver of hope I ducked and wanted to embrace the waves but too soon gone, as fast as he came I finally said something like to a friend long time no see, let alone joking O good waves and always stunning it's me, Adam's great-grandson who is walking in Job's footsteps to be stranded here, like Hidir looking for students convey my prayers, to the throne nun in sane sense When I wake up, the sun is perfect sinking at the horizon line feels right, darkness covers my soul su Now is the time for me

The pieces of this poetry book were composed with the spirit of sharing fortune like the kawis. Or as taught by the teachers, carrying the intention of dulce et utile. At least meet the rules of literature, even if only a speck. Thankfully there is knowledge. About the depth, ah that's far-fetched. Most importantly, not distant from the reader, the community. Because it narrates about daily life and the city. related to the occupants. Although there are actually a collection of old poems, which have not or have not found readers, except for yourself. Which was written when I was still in school. At FIB Undip, Semarang. But as suddenly, decades later, after communicating with the poet Almukarom Doddi Ahmad Fauji (DAF), I was moved to really want to reassemble the collection of poems scattered everywhere. Also in memories, which are very difficult to trace back. Because the power of memory, it turns out, is not much. Memories, it sucks to pretend to say; "What is so-so doesn'

Doddi Ahmad Fauji Not only in Andalas the hills line up as solemn as Gautama in uninterrupted retreat From the Panenjoan, it seems that they are in line beyond Sparta's ships who besieged Troy We're just dust beach arch and rock formation leaving a magic handprint The hand that drains the Seven Curug marking the lost Sawarna far away, on the horizon before names are given All fairy tales are inconceivable leads to an Authority And not in Cyprus, nor in Santorini The curse was recited, incarnating Simalakama form a row of spice forests being the snake whisper lodged in each of the pawned breath You, you know, my sweet Lucifer with a pair of pinkish red nipples are the twin cities, Bucharest and Budapest which is delayed I explore the curves but hopefully the day after tomorrow, the good is blessed Sukabumi, 2016 * Has been published in the poetry anthology Jangjawokan (2016)