By: Chairil Anwar
The last time you came
You brought bright flowers,
Red roses, white jasmine,
Blood and holiness,
And spread them in front of me
With a decisive look: for you.
We were stunned
And asked each other: what’s this?
Love? Neither of us understood.
The day we were together.
We did not touch.
But my heart will not give itself to you,
And does not care
That you are ripped by desolation.
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