on september thirty
a letter to my granddaughter setia 1 september thirty people still talk people still ask as if just a story about horror and tragedy what and what who and who why and why in this not knowing everyone talks, still fighting the truth history and stories become one washed away in foam angels of death laugh and celebrate amidst the moans of life being destroyed 2 in the midst of those who struggle piles of dirt are dug up piles of stories are opened up in the name of history, straightened a victory over the weak a victory over those who lost all in the name of history 3 in the midst of horror and tragedy i, your grandfather, want to return back to myself ash of history as an ash of history i follow the shadow of the sun not just for the moon but also to follow the mountains and forests inevitable i follow the flow of the wind not just for the patter of its wings but also with the seasons and storms inevitable my granddaughter, this is the era of democracy they say this is the era of reform they say what is the meaning then if it ends as a creed reform, democracy and what else the rumbling thunder of fall bash on the walls of power dissolve in a daydream these are not fables but a sign that the heart of tyranny is breathing is on fire 4 on this september thirty, setia the story is still the same playing lies playing humanity the red and white flowers still bloom flowers of freedom in the midst of struggle white doves still spread their wings wings of peace against a dry sky blue heaven heaven of hope humanity is still beating even very softly 5 setia, my granddaughter this month is the month of your birth also the month when your opa became ash ash of history forever Hersri Setiawan Translated into English by Ken Setiawan, 30 September 2015 #living1965 #1965setiaphari
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