You let go of my hand as we ran into blackness. This is my time, you said, before you fell down to your death.

Wishful Thinking

It is summer here and there.
Even though million miles running between our glare.
It is impossible not to care.
About the similarities of our despair.

In between fiction and situation.
In between compassion and recognition.
It cannot be denied that our minds are fusing through a mysterious synchronization.

A Midsummer Night's Dream was in my hand.
As you threw quoted words to your clan.
And at that moment, perhaps, we were connected in another kind of land.

Metropolis

Every Saturday night.
Bite. Sprite. Invite. Excite.
Every Saturday night.
Tight. Overnight. Fight. Fright.

From the corner to the center.
From the beggar to the banker.
Far behind this crown.
We're a bunch of clown.
All around the town.
Deep inside we frown.

Jakarta 2

They're breathing cold heat.
They're pumping loud beat.
They're digesting swell meat.
It's only their body.
Their mind remains empty.

Now we're talking. Not really.

Done 3. Trillions to come. Thinking to adapt these sketches into a series of paintings.