On Foreign Shores

Don't Travel to the north

where days grow shorter and the air

rustles with the wings of dying birds. Black earth is buried under ten days of snow

a mute region where words are only weapons

for killing the love

of the lover who the night before had slept on one's side

here ends all history

all pleasure and honor

spilt on white blood

above the snow everything freezes

the sun dies

long nights seal the road that leads home

homesickness surrounds.

Subagio Sastrowardoyo : On Foreign Shores

niat baca baca puisi buat refreshing malah nemu yang bikin tambah galau