The Indonesian’s Gifts
I seal myself in a coffin of seriousness,
My phobia will be displayed in sheets of paper,
In the exam hall the next day.
A group of fingers crosses the screen of my concentration,
Like a collection of birds roaming across the sky.
I bring up my face, a distressed man,
Who looks like An African, Asian, Arab in one,
But looks like none, like a Mutt.
He’s with a girl, who’s a clone of him,
“Hello, I’m Hafiz from Indonesia, where’s the toilet?” He asks in an unclear accent,
The lady looks around the vicinity
Carefully, like an antsy person who wants to cross a bacchanalian highway.
My pointed index finger leads them on,
The toilet swallows them,
The man gives me a Golden Pen as gift,
The woman gives me a word of confidence to
Take to the exam hall.