Heartbor
How to prune the heart?
Echoing the rhythm of "Maqomat Ras".
I trembled with childlike syntax.
Monarchs and nobility operated under rules.
Faith versus the truth.
I put all my mental energy into this.
I waddled towards the front door.
I beg, proclaim for nothing, and debris splits.
Where is the sparkling heart?
Rest of high-end dogmatic pegs.
Thrones, lives, Crusaders, and Moors.
I anchored at the heart gate.
A trans-theologia of the urban cosmos.
How to prune the heart?
Copyright © Yudho Sasongko | Year Posted 2022
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