It's Surprising to See How Creative I was, Compared to These Days: The Collection of My Older Poems

Don't Tell Anyone
By: Rima M

I used to hate mirror,
Looking at my own reflection is a horror.

I used to hate the floor,
Stepping my path on earth is like a terror.

I used to hate the sun,
Seeing the light exposing my ugliness in the spotlight is absolutely no fun.

I used to hate powder,
Trying to be beautiful makes me loose my power.

I used to hate the colour pink,
I thought light romantic colours would cause me a trouble to think.

I used to hate friends,
Sometimes I fear that it ends.

I used to hate love,
I'm afraid that it's not really a gift that is sent from way above.

I used to hate you,
I thought that probably you would hate me too.

Is Love Nature or Nurture?
By Rima Muryantina

Is love nature or nurture?
A never-ending question it seems, for it is the most abstract feature.

Sometimes I think it's a learned behaviour,
That it demands every lover to work on endeavour.

Sometimes I fear that it's an innate feeling,
That inherits in every human, no allowing a chance for resisting.

Wherever it may lead, love offers me such an uncomfortable link,
For it makes me think of fear, and causes me a fear of thinking.

Inspired by: Jean Atchinson's The Articulate Mammal: An Introduction to Psycholinguistics

Admiring Ms. Different
By: Rima M

Two years a go, I met Ms. Different,
When we were both still indifferent.
We both sailed into the other side of the sea,
Where only a few people could see.

I didn't really know why or how i started sailing,
I just thought that maybe somehow land could be so boring.
Most people in the land could see me, that makes it so terrifying.
So i escaped to some parts of the ocean, which for most people weren't so interesting.

Beneath the tranquil sea, I met Ms. Different,
We were so silent.
Throwing wise words we know from the land,
Which were wiser than the singing of the mermaid band.

But still, we were indifferent towards everything, everything around us.
Including to each other, including to the sailors above us.

Tired of sailing,
Sometimes I went on beach-walking,
And I met her once more,
And she was different even more,
I was different too.
But all i know was that our silence, hidden anguish, and indifference were true,
True and blue.

Then somehow we were taken to the surface of the sea,
Where most people could see us, but hardly could we.
Sometimes I sailed into the deeper part of the sea,
Meeting her there, forgetting intranquility.

And we both then realized, that it's not the matter of the land or the sea,
We both need to go back to reality.

Colourless Green Ideas Sleep Furiously

Dear, Mr. Chomsky

I would like to inform you,
That the sentence you chose to be
An example of a complete nonsense,
is actually not a nonsense at all.

I could tell myself and you completely,
That there are actually colourless green ideas that sleep furiously.

The ideas visited me a few days a go.
In front of my eyes, they are green,
Though in front of others, they appear colourless.

I could tell you that they truly sleep beside me,
And they do sleep furiously,
The only logical explanation that I can tell thee,
Is that the ideas are the ideas of being me.

Nevertheless, Mr. Chomsky,
I don't expect you to clarify your previous theory,
Your theory has already been accepted by all other people beside me,
And that explains why the only nonsense is me.

From the bottom of my greenity I really hoped that you would like,
to come back to linguistics world and resolve this odd phenomenon.
But my colourless ideas respect your decision,
to move to a world more political-like.

And this doesn't lessen my respect to you,
I am just trying to inform you.

Wish you could be happy with anything you choose
Either colourless or green,
Either furious or sleepin'


Rima Muryantina

I Don't Want to Popularize My Writing
By: Rima Muryantina

Mr. A said...

You're young, but your style is too conservative. You should try to write like a youngster.

Mrs.B said....

When you write, you just can't express everything that you feel. You have to satisfy your reader."

Mr. C said...
You have to get away from conservative themes...Get humorous!

Ms. D said...
You have to put teenage romances on your writing...

Mr. E added...
Or maybe some sex issues will do...

I said, "Piss off... I don't want to popularize my writing"

I Was Born Angry
By: Rima M

I was born angry
not happy
quite contrary
to someone I envy

I'm blind of happiness
and deaf of laughter
lack of kindness
and all that belongs to her

our acquaintanceship is absolutely fine
yet always makes me wonder
because she's all things that shine
and i'm all things darker

Clever Mr. Turner

Clever Mr. Turner
Has really won me over,
For his words make me shiver,
With meanings under cover.

Clever Mr. Turner
Has gone faraway with her,
Yet it doesn’t really matter,
For he has never been enough closer.

Clever Mr. Turner
Has never been near to hover,
Yet his voice heals my fever,
And his melody is my sweater.

Clever Mr. Turner
Only left me memories to remember,
Yet haven’t I known any memory sweeter,
That’s even better than a four-leaf clover.

Me and Mr. Nickleby

“I pray that I shall have this day,
The same day we had today,
All the rest of my life,”
That’s what little Nickleby say
To someone important in his life.

Not so long a go,
That important person has to go,
To face a condition,
Which can’t be stopped by any speculation.

I’ve never met Mr. Nickleby,
But I’m pretty sure he sounds like me.

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