Infinite
Infinite by Rini Angeliantari acrylic on paper The seed will grow into a tree, you said but no bird would ever stay, I said even a quaint light would stepped dead on the very branch of that tree you said Look, at the evening star's red silence is the music they make what if the symphony is bled by our hands knitting its thread? There are no stairs to climb back the ache of slow, delirious joy "What if we took a visit to the tree? Can we climb it and find the glee?" Let us just go to the meadow tiptoeing through the still air We can run and run and grow like a child who laughed and scared the maroon sky is craving the yellow moon, glowing its smoke like an old actress maybe we will wake and find us exhausted we are dreaming of tree and infinite bareness. 2014