Cintaku Seperti Gajah

Cintaku gagah seperti gajah,
Tak gentar diterpa hujan maupun amarah.
Kokoh berdiri, teguh melangkah,
Menjaga janji dengan hati yang ramah.

Cintaku megah seperti gajah,
Bukan karena rupa, melainkan jiwa yang indah.
Membawa damai di setiap langkah,
Menghapus resah, menumbuhkan berkah.

Cintaku melimpah seperti gajah,
Seluas rimba, sedalam sejarah.
Tak habis dibagi, tak luntur oleh waktu,
Semakin memberi, semakin bertumbuh.

Bila suatu hari kau bertanya,
Mengapa cintaku tak pernah berubah,
Jawabku sederhana, namun penuh makna:
Karena cintaku... sebesar hati seekor gajah.

Where Are You, God?

Where are You, God?

Not in the sermons
that dissolve with the morning,
not in the verses
I can recite by memory,
but here—
where silence presses
its full weight against my chest.

Where are You?

I need You physically.
I need a hand that does not disappear
when I reach for it.
I need a voice
that breaks through the static
inside my mind.
I need something to touch,
something that says,
"You are not alone."

Because tonight,
my heart is a room
with every window open,
and still
there is no wind.

I feel so very sad.
The kind of sadness
that teaches clocks
to move more slowly.
The kind that turns
ordinary breaths
into mountains.

I feel so very down.
Like a bird
that remembers the sky
but has forgotten
how to trust its wings.

I feel so very lost.
Not because I chose
the wrong road,
but because every road
looks the same
in the dark.

If You are here,
do not hide
behind mysteries.
Do not answer
only with echoes.
Come as warmth.
Come as light.
Come as a hand
strong enough
to hold my breaking.

If faith
is only believing
without seeing,
then forgive me—
tonight,
I ache
for seeing.

I ache
for touch.
For presence.
For certainty.

And if You cannot
stand before me
as flesh and bone,

then let Your love
become so undeniable
that it feels
like someone
has finally found me
in the wilderness
and whispered,

"You don't have to walk
the rest of the way

alone." 

There Will Be Time

 

I know.

They are all
smarter than I am,
their words arriving
faster,
their ideas
sharper.

And I know.

Mister H
speaks with confidence.
He is always present,
always seen.
The professors
lean toward his voice,
their comments
finding him
again and again.

Perhaps
they admire him.

Let them.

Let them be.

I do not need
to compete
for every glance,
every nod,
every word
of approval.

Still—

there are days
when silence
feels personal.

Days when I wonder
if they notice
that I am here.

Days when it feels
as though
I have done nothing,
learned nothing,
become nothing.

My feet hesitate.

My heart refuses
to move forward.

But in the Lord's name,
I remember—

He exists.

He sees
what no one applauds.

He measures
what no one grades.

He prepares
what no one expects.

So I will wait.

Not in defeat,
but in faith.

Because there will be
a time

when my voice
will find its strength,

when my work
will find its purpose,

when my steps
will finally move
forward.

And when that day comes,

it will not be because
I was the loudest.

It will be because
God never stopped
walking beside me.

Questions

 

They were asked a few questions,
then silence embraced them
like an old friend
who had been waiting all along.

I,
on the other hand,
stood beneath a storm
where every answer
became the seed
of another question.

Perhaps
my proposal was not polished enough.
Perhaps
my arguments still trembled.
Perhaps
I simply had more to learn.

It hurt.

For a fleeting moment,
I mistook correction
for failure,
and criticism
for proof
that I was not enough.

Then there was the noise.

A child wandered
through the room,
restless,
turning concentration
into scattered fragments.

Yet somehow,
when others stood
where I had stood,
the room was calm.

Coincidence?
Arrangement?
Fortune?

I will never know.

And perhaps
I no longer need to.

Because peace
does not come
from understanding
every unfair moment.

It comes
from choosing
not to let bitterness
write the ending.

So today,
I choose gratitude.

Gratitude
for the questions
that forced me to think deeper.

Gratitude
for the flaws
that refused
to let me settle
for mediocrity.

Gratitude
for surviving
the longest hour
of my academic journey.

Now,
my desk
is covered
with revisions—

pages bleeding
with ink,
comments,
and expectations.

It looks overwhelming.

But mountains
are never climbed
in a single step.

Page by page.
Sentence by sentence.
Correction by correction.

I will return.

Not because
I am already brilliant,

but because
I refuse
to let today's struggle
become tomorrow's regret.

One day,
these revisions
will no longer feel
like wounds.

They will become
the fingerprints
of perseverance—

proof
that I did not stop
when the questions
became too many.

Maybe karma walks in silence,

 

He said her name was hidden,
locked away where no one knew,
but whispers walked to maiden
and somehow, somehow… it was true.

Promises dissolved like serum
dripping slowly into lies,
sweet words wearing silver halos
while betrayal filled the skies.

Danger lives inside deception,
in the games people create,
smiling softly in the daylight
while they quietly seal your fate.

Maybe karma walks in silence,
maybe time will make things clear,
every secret leaves an echo,
every lie returns sincere.

And if someday truth comes knocking,
may it find what hearts conceal,
for the wounds disguised as joking
are still painfully real.

So forgive me if I’m mistaken,
if my anger sounds too loud—
but trust once broken into pieces
never rests beneath the crowd.

Forgive me for this fragile heart.

 

Sorry, Lord,
I come to You again
with a heavy chest
and a smile that keeps pretending to be okay.

I told the world
that I was fine,
but before You,
I finally break open.

Three people already
heard the cracks in my voice,
heard the jealousy
quietly growing inside me
like moss on a damp wall.

I’m sorry.

I know
I should not compare my journey.
They are soaring far ahead,
while I am still here
trying to calm my own heart.

I know
everyone has their own road,
their own timing,
their own destiny
written carefully by Your hands.

But still, Lord,
there is a pain I cannot explain
when I watch others
arrive sooner
at the dreams they prayed for.

And I—
I am still standing here,
asking for direction,
collecting the little pieces of faith
falling from my tired hands.

Forgive me for being jealous.
Forgive me for this fragile heart.
Forgive me for not fully accepting
the slowness of my own life.

If You allow it, Lord,
please hold my mind tonight.
Quiet the noise in my head,
ease the ache inside my chest.

Give me light
when everything feels dark.
Give me strength
to believe
that being late does not mean being lost.

And if my path is truly different,
teach me
how to keep walking
without needing to become anyone else
but myself.

Because I am tired
of hating myself
just because I have not arrived yet.

And when the night feels endless,

 

In the name of You,
I must be strong
when my heart trembles
like a candle against the storm.

In His name,
I must be patient
even when silence cuts deeper
than the sharpest words.

Lord,
I need You tonight.
The world feels heavy,
and shadows walk too close behind me.

It seems
someone carries darkness toward me,
someone whose presence
turns peace into fear.

Lord,
stand beside me.
Be the shield around my soul,
the light inside my shaking chest.

In His name,
protect me from cruelty,
from hidden hatred,
from those who wish harm upon my path.

Remove evil far from my life
like smoke scattered by the wind.
Let justice rise in its rightful time,
according to karma,
according to Your perfect judgment.

Not through hatred,
not through revenge,
but through truth
that no darkness can escape.

Lord,
I am afraid.
But even fear
still kneels before Your power.

So hold my spirit steady.
Teach me courage.
Teach me peace.
And when the night feels endless,
remind me
that no shadow survives forever
where Your light remains.

difficult to understand.

 

She acts like she’s in charge
even though she’s not a lecturer,
not a leader,
not anyone with authority—
just someone
who walks into the room
and speaks
like the world bends
around her voice.

Yeah,
she’s a senior.

And somehow,
I keep thinking about it.

Maybe
behind her sharp tone
there’s a piece of kindness
I haven’t understood yet.

Maybe
I’m just afraid
of being ignored
by Mister High—
that cold person
whose eyes feel like
a locked door
with no key.

Maybe.

I don’t know.

God,
I am confused.

Sometimes I want to leave.
Sometimes I want to stay.
Sometimes I just want
to be seen,
even for a moment.

So I give everything to You.

If she is kind,
make her my friend.

If she is cruel,
throw her far away.

And about Mister High—

if he is kind,
let his heart become softer.

Make me strong
to face his silence,
his pride,
his strange presence
that somehow
keeps crossing my path.

And if he is bad,
throw him far away too.

But then again…

You placed me here,
in this exact moment,
with these exact people.

So maybe
there is something
I am meant to learn.

About patience.
About dignity.
About understanding people
who are difficult to understand.

Or maybe
about myself.

And maybe, God…
that has been the answer
all along.

Closer Than Dreams

 

Closer Than Dreams

The dream stands close—too close to name,
Yet drifts beyond my reach the same.
It lingers just outside my hand,
A distant, soft, uncharted land.

Beyond my strength, beyond my sight,
Beyond what reason calls as right,
Beyond the borders of my mind—
A fragile hope I cannot bind.

O God,
Make still the storm within my chest,
Lay quiet hands upon unrest.
Let peace arrive, so soft, so deep,
A sacred calm my soul can keep.

Teach me silence, teach me grace,
To find Your light in every place.
And let my heart, though small it seems,
Grow wide enough to hold its dreams.

I am grateful, God—
For all You’ve given, seen and unseen,
For every loss that shaped between,
For every breath, for every day,
For guiding me along the way.

And yet I know—beyond all fear,
There’s nothing You cannot make clear.
No dream too far, no path too steep,
No promise that You cannot keep.

So I will pray, again, again—
Through quiet nights, through doubt and pain.
For every dream my soul has known,
That one day, they may be my own.

Different skies, but the same bright sun—

 

No room for shadows in the way I see,
No space for envy to grow in me.
Their road is theirs, with turns unknown,
And mine is waiting to be my own.

I walk with light in every stride,
With steady hope as my quiet guide.
What’s meant for them will find its place,
What’s meant for me I will embrace.

No need to compare, no need to race,
Each soul moves at its destined pace.
Different skies, but the same bright sun—
Many journeys, but each one won.

So I choose faith, I choose to believe,
In all the good I’m meant to receive.
They have their path, I have mine too—
And both are beautiful, strong, and true.

Not one that never breaks—

 

God, You know it—
that place doesn’t feel like home anymore.

The walls remember me wrong.
Even the silence there speaks in a language
I no longer understand.

I don’t want to go back.
Not to the corners that swallowed my light,
not to the rooms that forgot how to breathe with me in them.

Let me stay here,
where the air feels softer,
where even sadness has gentler edges,
where hope still knows my name.

Or take me somewhere else—
a rainbow land stitched from colors I’ve never outgrown,
where the sky doesn’t question my presence,
and the ground holds me like I belong.

But if You want me to return,
if that road is still mine to walk,
then I ask You this, quietly, fully:

God, give me a strong heart.
Not one that never breaks—
but one that knows how to keep beating
even when everything else feels like leaving.

in whispers I barely understood.

 

I only just realized—
this quiet unfolding of my days
was never random, never mine alone.

It was You.

A gift I walked through blindly,
calling it ordinary ground,
when all along
it was rainbow land—
the very place my prayers
had been pointing to
in whispers I barely understood.

How strange,
to arrive inside a miracle
and not recognize the light.

God, forgive me
for learning so slowly
how to see.

Every step—
even the uncertain ones—
was written with care,
held in a design
far gentler than my fears.

And that sacred sentence
echoes now with new meaning:
“Seek knowledge,
even unto distant lands.”

Here I stand—
far from where I began,
yet closer to purpose
than I have ever been.

Yes… even here,
in lands once distant in my dreams,
I begin to understand—

gratitude is not a moment,
but a growing thing.

So let it rise within me,
day by day,
like dawn learning
how to stay.

only a soul that keeps choosing You.

 

He returns like a shadow at noon—
uninvited, familiar,
whispering doubts in a language
I used to believe.

But today I begin with Bismillah,
a quiet flame in my chest,
a name that steadies the trembling air
and reminds my soul where to stand.

O God, make me stronger than this storm,
stronger than the echo of his words,
stronger than the version of myself
that almost agreed with him.

Protect me—not just from him,
but from the seeds he tries to plant inside me,
from the slow-growing darkness
that pretends to be truth.

Let my heart stay clear,
like morning after rain,
untouched by bitterness,
unshaken by passing shadows.

If negativity knocks again,
let it find no home here—
only light, only faith,
only a soul that keeps choosing You.

be the judge of what is true,

 

Something still sits uneasy in my chest,
A quiet question I cannot quite rest.
Strange, isn’t it—something feels misaligned,
A moment that lingers inside my mind.

She stood there speaking, leading the way,
Yet when questions came, he chose what to say.
A curious shift, a subtle exchange,
Not wrong perhaps, but quietly strange.

Wasn’t it meant to be done alone?
Each voice accountable, each effort its own.
But I pause, and breathe, and let it be—
Not everything is mine to see.

Let God be the judge of what is true,
Of what is hidden, of what they do.
As for me, I will guard my part,
And tend to the soil within my heart.

I will choose kindness, I will stay right,
Even when things don’t feel quite light.
Bismillah, I begin again—
With faith as strength, and God as my friend.

Now, Between Waiting and Becoming

 

Now—

I stand in a quiet hour,
not knowing what to do,
hands empty,
mind wandering through unfinished roads.

Maybe many orders will come one day,
lined up like blessings at my door,
and I will earn enough—
money, salary, gaji—
enough to breathe without counting.

But now is not that time.
Now is the lesson between storms,
the pause that feels like falling behind,
the space where patience
is the only work I understand.

I wake up late—
as if time slipped past me on purpose,
and then the day arrives
like a train of misfortune,
loud, unstoppable, unkind.

I couldn’t make it to the factory.
I sit—
and being seen sitting
feels heavier than working.
Because stillness is judged
when survival demands motion.

They say: help others.
So I try—
but even my effort gets lost,
delivering the wrong order
to the wrong place,
like my steps don’t yet belong to the path.

The road stretches too long,
each second pulling at my confidence,
each mistake echoing louder
than all my quiet intentions.

Still—
somewhere inside,
a small voice refuses to disappear:

Hope.

Hope that God is watching,
even in these tangled hours.
Hope that this confusion
is not the end,
but a beginning disguised as chaos.

Maybe later—
yes, maybe later—
everything will fall into rhythm:
my work steady,
my mind clear,
my steps certain.

For now,
I hold on to patience
like it is already a form of success.

And even if I don’t know what to do—
I am still here.
Still trying.
Still becoming.

A Gentle Warning

 

A Gentle Warning

Once—
a flicker on the screen,
a whisper in the wires—
Mendeley failed,
Word collapsed,
and suddenly
the silence felt… dangerous.

A small fear crept in—
what if everything vanished?
All the thoughts,
all the drafts,
all the almost-finished dreams.

And then—
a memory returned.

This has happened before.
A quiet lesson once ignored:
close the pages,
rest the machine,
protect the work
like a fragile prayer.

O God,
thank You for this subtle warning—
not a loss,
but a reminder wrapped in unease.

After this,
I will not delay.
I will write,
again and again,
before time dares to erase intention.

Let discipline grow
where panic once lived.
Let gratitude rise
where fear once stood.

Because even in error,
there is mercy—
a nudge back
to purpose.

A Strange Blessing

 

A Strange Blessing

A baffling twist of fate that day,
I reached the airport—then dismay,
My bag, my things, my small world there,
Left on a train, gone unaware.

Back to the station, heart in race,
Regret and worry on my face,
I spoke to staff with trembling plea—
“The train is gone,” they said to me.

Miles away, it carried on,
My hopes felt fading, nearly gone,
I waited there with silent prayer,
Between despair and fragile care.

Yet grace arrived in quiet ways,
A gentle light through anxious haze,
In a land where honesty stays,
My lost belongings found their ways.

Taiwan held safe what I had lost,
A mercy far beyond the cost,
Though flight tickets burned to the sky,
Still faith refused to say goodbye.

For God, in wisdom we can’t see,
Takes one, returns in mystery,
What fades today may yet be replaced,
With greater gifts, by mercy graced.

So I stand still, with القلب light,
Through loss, I learn to trust the night—
For every fall, a hand above,
Reminds me still: I’m held in love.

I call upon the ancient bones of earth,

 

I call upon the ancient bones of earth,
the mountains breathing beneath my feet,
the rivers whispering forgotten truths—
I summon all their silent strength.

I plead to the sovereign light,
keeper of dawn and quiet miracles,
that its tender blaze may reach
the shadowed chambers of hateful hearts,
and teach them how to glow again.

To the tree fairies, unseen and wise,
I send the tremor of my soul—
may roots of the living world
untangle the crooked paths
inside cunning, restless minds,
where negativity coils and feeds.

I embrace the language of leaves,
their green hymns trembling in wind,
and entrust them with a sacred task:
to bind the hands of greed,
to soften the grip of endless hunger,
to silence the blades of wrath.

Let the earth remember balance.
Let the light remember mercy.
Let every darkened heart be met
not with destruction—
but with a force so pure,
it reshapes what it touches.

that time

 

That time—
when silence stretched between seconds,
and her reply did not come,
my mind became a storm without warning.

Thoughts unraveled into shadows,
whispers of doubt growing louder than truth,
each second a question,
each question a quiet kind of fear.

I told myself it was nothing—
just time, just space—
but memory is a cruel storyteller,
and it painted the past all over again.

The echoes returned—
of waiting, of losing, of almosts that broke me,
and suddenly I was there again,
in a place I promised I had left behind.

I don’t want to feel that again—
that hollow pull in the chest,
that fragile thread of hope
trembling under imagined endings.

So I breathe—
hold onto what is real,
remind the storm inside me:
not every silence is goodbye.

teach me stillness,

 

They speak in shadows,
sharp like thorns hidden in familiar gardens—
an aunt, a cousin,
voices that bruise without leaving marks.

I stand there,
hands quiet,
heart louder than their words,
wanting to fix what I never broke.

But some storms
are not mine to calm.

So I loosen my grip—
on anger,
on answers,
on the aching need to be understood.

I lift it all upward,
this tangled weight of silence and strain,
and place it gently
into His hands.

Let Him soften what I cannot,
lighten what I cannot reach,
teach them warmth
where cold has taken root.

And me—
teach me stillness,
the kind that does not surrender,
but trusts.

For peace is not found
in changing others,
but in knowing
who holds the power to.