natural scribbling

When we are forgotten, even considered unimportant in one small stroke.
Does he know what we feel if the theme in his story is titled "HE"?

Maybe "HE" never knows, and will not know how the name of his name, still always spoken in the night of our prostration, in the midst of the chanting of tasbih and tasyakkur that we are comatly kamitkan along this path.

Struggle that does not feel comparable with the existing sense, the parties are constantly mengintrogasikan state and atmosphere that increasingly blistered more and more.

Is there a long way to solve it? Long streets in silent dressing, in decorative lenggang, in content with new things, new habits that make a journey to be new and fun.

I wait for that moment to arrive, the moment where the hands are served with joy, the moment where the spell mantra is getting spoken with the sacred.
When all promises have been pledged, when I and you become us in a long way, far as if endless, for us to go along with the same course, with the same purpose and also hope.