Simplicity in Happiness




Sometimes happiness is as simple as picking gorgeously small yellow buttercups ❤



By Rumi

No better love than love without object,
no more satisfying work than work with no purpose.
If you could give up tricks and cleverness,
that would be the cleverest trick!

Gamble everything for love,
if you’re a true human being.

If not, leave this gathering.

Half-heartedness doesn’t reach into majesty.
You set out to find God,
but then you keep stopping for long periods
at mean-spirited roadhouses.

If the beloved is everywhere,
the lover is a veil,

but when living itself becoms
the Friend, lovers disappear.

I rarely let the word “No” escape
From my mouth
Because it is so plain to my soul
That God has shouted, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Two Sided Man


by Rudyard Kipling

Much I owe to the Land that grew–
More to the Life that fed–
But most to Allah Who gave me two
Separate sides to my head.

Much I reflect on the Good and the True
In the Faiths beneath the sun,
But most upon Allah Who gave me two
Sides to my head, not one.

Wesley’s following, Calvin’s flock,
White or yellow or bronze,
Shaman, Ju-ju or Angekok,
Minister, Mukamuk, Bonze–

Here is a health, my brothers, to you,
However your prayers are said,
And praised be Allah Who gave me two
Separate sides to my head!

I would go without shirt or shoe,
Friend, tobacco or bread,
Sooner than lose for a minute the two
Separate sides of my head!

Longing by Matthew Arnolds



by Matthew Arnold (1822-1888)

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times,
A messenger from radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me.

Or, as thou never cam’st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth.
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say My love! why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Soy Amada


By Rizka Pramadita

The other day i wrote myself an ode to the virtue of Apple in Eden.
I questioned whether it was mundane, or celestial and divine. So many probable answers came and i got confused,
In the end i resumed that parts of my ode should remain unwritten.
Apple of Eden belongs to the acceptance of each believers.
I thought the effort of writing the Ode would bring me to the fruits of knowledge
In a sense, it did, but most of it was archaic.

Traces of smiling little faces and thoughts became trails of smiling little hooks.
Therefore today i am composing my own letter of Repentance.

Yet out of the blue i stumbled on an odd spectacle.
I fell! I fell!
I fell with tears of joy i fell on your feet.
And my conscience said, “Oh no, not again…”
Prophecies said 100% rejection would occur.
Good God you came with open arms and grace instead.

So i listened.
I listened attentively.

I caught every single word greedily like i had only been doing monologues for decades.
I attempted to interpret them and stitch the result with patches of feelings and little cognition of mine.
The process created bursts of happiness, sparks of light.
Firework in New Year’s eve.

Laugh please, the whole things changed the next day.
We built walls around us, you had the plan, I put the bricks.

It’s all in one bowl: passion, compassion, self-restraint, boundaries, hopes, fears, dreams.
But above and beyond, i have my utmost respect and trust.

Let’s not go astray.
My afflictions flow along the downstream,
With a will of trying to coexist,
Without causing any suspense or disgrace at your end.
Let’s not go astray, let’s not go astray.
I believe i acknowledge the fact: we all are going to be ashes in urns.
I have said too much and done too little.

My soul cast down on the ground in humility, submission, and adoration.
I kneel and prostrate, another ode is started.
Only, this is a dedication of love to the Divine Maker.
I surrender to You only. Love me, gravitate me, save me.
As to you, soy amada, and that is more than enough.
(February 2008)

Empty Seats


By Rizka Pramadita

Such wrath, such gloom.
Despicable gloom in my heart,
To witness these empty seats.

My Teacher came to spread his Light,
yet empty are the seats.

Present were of what was seen,
Merely flesh, and blood, and bones.
But no soul, no soul, no soul.

My Teacher came, what a delight!
and was welcomed by no more than unflown kite.

Fingers are tamping,
Pens are doodling,
Thoughts wandered around somewhere.
Lost, and carried away.

All these empty seats,
such wrath and defeat.

While my Teacher came and still,
patiently sit and teach us ‘ilm:

“Because ikhtiyar is bound in meaning with khayr, meaning ‘good’, being derived from the same root khara (khayara), the choice that is meant in ikhtiyar is the choice of what is good, better, or best between the two alternatives”.

– Syed Muhammad Naquib Al-Attas, “Prolegomena to the Metaphysics of Islam”

Digging Old Files

Mei 2006

Kabut dari gunung masih tersisa separuh.
Hidungku mencium bau dedaunan yang dibakar–daun-daun kering, dan asap dari rokok klobot lelaki-lelaki renta.
Batu, kulit pohon, dipan bambu, angsa-angsa putih, kubangan air, tiap benda di sekitar rumahku punya aromanya yang khas.
Bahkan siput-siput yang liat dan kerikil kecil di dalam kali dekat baris bambu berperdu jauh di sana punya odor pesona mereka.
Aku suka udara hari ini.

Agustus 2006

Satu, atau barangkali dua tahun yang lalu, sewaktu tangan kecilku menggenggam kayuh di atas sebuah kano biru, kulit wajahku menggelap, seperti warna hazelnut–katanya–di bawah matahari agustus yang terik.

Satu, atau barangkali dua tahun yang lalu, kano biru itu berputar menjelajah danau dimana peri-peri kecil tinggal–katanya–tempat aku berkenalan dengan kupu-kupu putih dan kura-kura kecil yang menyembul di bawah teduh bayangan pohon willow.

Sekarang satu atau dua tahun yang lalu itu jadi sebuah son et lumiere, potongan-potongan gambar dan suara dari masa lalu, seperti kotak musik yang berputar pelan-pelan, menarik jutaan serat emosiku jauh, jauh ke danau itu lagi, jauh… jauh melampaui yang dulu kasat terlihat, jauh melintas hutan di tepi danau yang dulu hijau. Hijau dan penuh peri.
Sekarang hutan itu hitam. Gelap. Penuh lelembut, racun, dan ajal. Rinjani.
Rinjani adalah nama sebuah kesedihan. Dan kenangan itu menghisap dengan aroma rinjani.

Di kota baru ini, aku bertanya, apa lagi yang harus kutahu, apa lagi yang harus aku tahu kalau ternyata aku tidak tahu. Batu-batu, pohon-pohon, alang-alang, semua yang harusnya kutahu punya nama di bumiku sendiri tapi aku tidak tahu. Batu-batu, pohon-pohon…semua yang punya kehidupan tapi aku tidak tahu.
Semua yang tumbuh dan bernafas, tapi aku tidak sadar.

Gitar itu terpetik. Musiknya anggun.
“Suatu hari aku lihat burung beterbangan dari balik kepalamu.
Dan kadang aku tahu kau tahu, aku selalu di sana, memandangmu, mengawasimu, saat aku rasa kau tidak tahu…”
Itu katanya, dulu…

wulan andhung-andhung…
yo ro metuo, saben wulan saben taun
sunare nyondro dhewi
alah mas
kepikir padhang, mendhem gadhung bakalan wurung.
wulan andhung-andhung ono padang ono mendung,
alah mas
atine wong lanang, kang kedulang, keloyong-loyong…
yong-yong kelopo doyong
awakku yo keloyong-loyong
yong-yong kelopo doyong
atiku yo keloyong-loyong

Sekarang hatiku mengaras rindu,
pada cinta yang jauh, pada apa yang mataku tak sanggup melihat,
dan hanya satu yang kupunya,

…jingga-jingga cakrawala langit jendelaku hari ini, burung-burung putih terbang kembali ke bubungannya, melintasi hamparan padi kuning bernas, aku rindu…

The Five Senses


Sometimes i forget how your cheekbones frame your warm face,
Many days i remember my friends’ and acquaintances’ better…
Sometimes i can only obtain that voice i heard the first time we talked,

A strange, foolish warmth lingers inside my heart,
It is invisible and the limits are unseen,
It has nothing to do with five senses,
Or as Rumi put it:

Love has nothing to do with the five senses and the six directions:

its goal is only to experience the attraction exerted by the Beloved.

Afterwards, perhaps, permission will come from God:

the secrets that ought to be told will be told with an eloquence
nearer to the understanding that these subtle confusing allusions.

The secret is partner with none but the knower of the secret: in the
skeptic’s ear, the secret is no secret at all.

So, perhaps, permission will come from God.

on Roses


, ,

I used to look down on roses.
I suspected them of lacking some sort of mystery.
I might even well wrote a verse on how I despise it.
Ubiquitous roses, thus audacious Casablanca.

Yet people change,
after some series of trials and errors. People change.
They get to know themselves better. Likes and Dislikes.
Strengths and Weaknesses.

I do not have as many demands and judgments as years ago. The demands and judgments aged along with the palpables.
So with my vicious affair with roses.

I regularly get myself fresh cuts of Roses now. A beautiful gradation of white, soft pink, and peach. Musing the graceful petals, drifted in their delicate fragrance.


Flowers have a serious soothing effect to my mood. And though books give a good deal of distraction, they can be treacherous at times.

“Books feed you mind,

Bread feeds your body,

but Flowers feed you soul”

-rosas encantadoras-