I fear that I will always be
A lonely number like root three
A three is all that’s good and right,
Why must my three keep out of sight
Beneath a vicious square root sign,
I wish instead I were a nine
For nine could thwart this evil trick,
with just some quick arithmetic
I know I’ll never see the sun, as 1.7321
Such is my reality, a sad irrationality
When hark! What is this I see,
Another square root of a three
Has quietly come waltzing by,
To form a number we prefer,
We break free from our mortal bonds
And with a wave of magic wands
Our square root signs become unglued
And love for me has been renewed.
Puisi yang anjrot dari film koplak Harold & Kumar: Escape From Guantanamo Bay. Dengan kekuatan anak yang math geek yang dapet tugas disuruh bikin poem sebagai tugas kuliahnya. sumpah bikin gue merinding waktu pertama denger. Meski filmnya sarat akan kekoplakakan sama ancurnya orang yang maniak sama marijuana sampe dikira teroris gegara pengen giting pake bong yang dikira boom. Seenggaknya dari keancuran bisa menimbulkan keindahan. Hahaha