my first entry for the clockwise project. find out about the project here https://clockwisewise.wordpress.com/about/.

Clock Wise

late this morning, dreams smell like freshly laundered socks.
neatly folded in rolls, sorted by styles and colors in the top drawer.
and now,
on to the bread crumbs under the table.

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a short story

afterlife in a glass of orange juice
a pierce at the centre of my chest

i thought the sounds of the world are not that amazing
and i grew tired of my own reflection on my mobile phone screen

i was an itch that would never go away
the ghost in your grandmother’s picture

and all the while you stay still
soaked in your bathtub

rubadubdub

i like stories
ending with somebody drowning

and smelling good

“ruangan ini ditutup & disegel”

we used to look outside
commenting on the many lives passing by our window at the corner
thinking we should at least have a bit of fun while we waste ours

though only secretly

and in our big little heads we wanted to believe
take pride even
in having total control of the process
we thought this wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t let it

and so we told stories
none of them ours
held on to the neverending,
hopefully like the night,
glasses of cheers
laughed sinister laughs
pleasant to our heartless ears

while inside
we had the suspicion this could actually be

love,

prayed hard for it,
then washed it down with
jokes
they brought tears to our hopeless eyes

then one night we held hands under the table

another we tried to look more drunk than we really were
(after you kissed me in the rest room)

and now we are looking in
at the dusts sitting in our chairs

(what would we say about us?)

and we walk
home

of seeing you behind my tears

you stood glossed in front of me.

like an antique.

purified.

like porcelain.

and everything else just stopped.

like portrait.

frozen-still.

like almost dead.

 

you stood blurred in front of me.

like a shadow.

darkening.

like a demon.

and the rest just faded away.

like a small feather.

hovering.

like almost gone.

 

 

 

 

21 january 2001
“bagaimana sembuh dari asmara, kecuali dengan perang?” (centhini – kekasih yang tersembunyi, hal. 31)