A lot of drafts have been made,
most of them left… redundant.
A lot of dreams have been dreamed,
they say sleep is for the weak.
Ideas smideas. Such pompous pursuit.
When we sell our soul to the devil,
we didn’t ask for any discount.
And then we claim back the good deeds to redeem ourselves,
and those deeds remain unacknowledged.
They say,
“Abby, write something which is not about love.
You need to change your style of writing.”
I say,
nothing.
We live in this loud crowded world in silence.
We don’t project our needs.
Wanting something which is not yours,
how do you earn its worth?
You don’t.
Go on living.
Tomorrow we might die.
Puisi lepas ini aku mencarut dalam bahasa aku.
Di dalam diam.
The Cosmic Abyss 