By the lake the goddess of my endless dream is sitting
reading with content the verses of a very glorious poem.
Her eyes are of the morning star—bright and beautiful.
Her lips part like a ripe pomegranate—so red and so full.

I listen to the sound of the dancing weaves of the blue lake.
I catch every single word from the heart-moving sweet lips.
Her voice is as sweet as the voice of an early morning bird.
Her gaze boils my flowing blood and shakes my holy mind.

There I see colorful butterflies flying around the goddess.
I also notice a group of male bees coming toward the figure.
Her body is as fragrant as a bud of rose starting to blossom.
When she is moving, I see an obvious Samba dancer in her.

I feel like I am tied up to earth and unable to take any step.
I feel like it is just a perfect perfection I am now looking at.
Only my eyes and heart are there, caressing the holy beauty.
Suddenly, an angel comes, and I’m now by the goddess’ side.

Line by line we recite side by side by the lake a lovely poem.
We find ourselves in the long verses of a living poem: the life.
The poem we recite is still long to end, but sounds wonderful.
Poems will teach us to admire lakes and avoid sharp rocks.

Yogyakarta, Indonesia, 14 November 2003

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