Sakha Afriyan

Dell Latitude, bitch hell your attitude I read the pattern, I read the gameI Stayed be Quiete, TMZ can’t frameCause all these bitches copy my gimmickWhole lotta fuckin mouths, but

The fragrance of Maison Francis Kurkdjianrested upon my skinlike a sacred ritual. Fendi taught me elegance.Givenchy taught me distance.Loewe taught methat art could survive inside objects. And somewhere betweenperfume, leather,

I once wore pridelike a second crown. My name stood above kingdoms,untouched by doubt,untouched by shame. Beside me stood my Queen,wise, fierce, untamable. I believedthe heavens themselveshad chosen her for

Pada waktu Zuhur,aku bersegera menuju rumah ibadahsetelah selesai menyantap rezeki siang hari. Tiada firasat buruk di dalam dada,sebab semua itu hanyalah rutinitasyang kulakukan semenjak aku mengenaljalan hidup yang diperintahkan-Nya. Maka

By candle light,the witches of Salemprepared their namesfor history. Yet I sought no dominionover flesh nor reality.I desired no false throne,no fractured identity. Instead,I turned toward the forbidden tonguesof Hoodoo

Lelah bernafas, Lelah terhadap hidupLelah pokoknya lelah Sudah kubaringkan tubuh pada kasurTerlelap, Tidur, jam 10 malamNamun di pagi hari, aku masih lelah Sudah kumakan nasi dengan daging, telur, sampai dengan

I sharpen my handsupon the Eighth Pentacle, hammering repetitioninto something worthy. When the work was done, I climbed high enoughto see The World, a circle without edges,spinning beyond my certainty.

The flavor of your love feels different.Not because I’ve known it,but because I haven’t. Yet somehowmy body rememberswhat my hands never touched. When you speak about poetry,something restless wakes inside

A creator wakes up every day and checks analytics before breakfast—not out of curiosity, but out of necessity. This is no longer just a habit; it reflects how work itself

When mind, body, and heart align,one truth quietly appears:the soul is not pure light,but a mixtureemotion, intelligence, fleshpoured into form.Empty words.Empty body.Empty mind.Empty soul.And stillthere is nothing wrong with emptiness.Emptiness

Who says a poem must be meaningful?Who decides our words must mirror our lives?Who decrees that promises must survive time?Anyone can speak in empty wordsand swear by promises made to

Di bawah pohon tandus aku menatap langit Tanpa payung, aku kuyup, seperti daun kering yang disiram Cinta seorang nenek terhadap tanamannya Mata tak terbendung, air terjun turun begitu deras Menatap