Three rooms, four doors;
Sterile, undusted floor;
Handful of tables, a dozen chairs;
Eight beds—each a person’s lair.
Seen through glass halls:
Distressingly calm,
Barely lukewarm;
Neither prison nor freedom:
Observably, controllably… shackled.
“Forever in decay, to the end of days,” I said.
“Within this menagerie of the ill—
ceteris paribus—‘tis an exercise in stasis,”
I penned, without ink, without quill:
Duly offered, Tjipto’s Psychward!
Pojok Sastra adalah kolom terbuka untuk tulisan jenis puisi, resensi, cerita pendek, dan opini. Dikurasi langsung oleh redaksi Economica.id.
