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my river, my love, my memory of you
not drying up under the high sun
nothing short of grey, and true, and blue
take me right where i cannot run
my face, my guts, my ducks in a row
to reflect, digest, to leave ripples behind
to understand and yet never let go
for time is irrelevant in the likes of mind
beyond me is wars, prices and police
it’s old, it’s new, some eliminate too
my words, my solitary and my peace
are proof of everything of undervalue
d.o.
paris 30 may 2026
dina oktaviani 