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Category: Poetry
is it in the silently moving lips of your dearest ones, or in the deafening laughter of strangers? when they are running away from you as you are leaving them?
a grim tale
dan di depan pintunya, ketika
angin mengusir siang dan mengundang gigil,
remah roti yang terakhir
j
a
t
u
h
.
mungkin ini semacam pertanda
~
pada suatu hari,
aku menemukannya di dekat sebuah air mancur
berdiri seperti markas penyihir berhias kembang gula
lalu menggodaku, “mari sini,
singgah barang sebentar.”
entah karena lelah,
atau terlalu terpesona,
atau memang cerdik,
aku cuma bisa diam
melihat puluhan hansel dan gretel
memesan anggur dan sepiring kue orang orangan jahe.
ah, alangkah bahagianya
ketika tahu tungku penyihir mendidih di kesunyian dapur
sementara gergasi, kurcaci dan tentara mainan selalu berkata
“nanti…”
karena cerita belum saatnya berakhir dan nenek sihir
belum boleh berkata jampi.
~
apakahrahasiaapakahbahagiaapakahpertanda
lebur jadi sunyi jadi
sorak sorai jadi
api jadi
mati
jadi
ja
di
j
a
d
i
—selesai 25 agustus 2008 (setelah setahun mendekam bersama debu, with a little help from MJ)
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)
winter-in-a-box
Estranged
in a mall with
a mobile phone that is not mine,
its phonebook full with useless numbers,
Moron!
an iPod,
running out of power,
Well, let’s just read then.
a book,
one that i’ve finished,
Oh, why don’t you just polish your writing instead?
a laptop,
dead,
“Mbak, di sini ada colokan nggak?”
“Maaf, Mbak, nggak ada.”
and, worst of all,
a notepad without a pen or pencil.
So I braved the cold
At a corner table in a quiet café
With a hot cup of latte
Exploiting whatever the iPod could still play,
Air with “Lost Message”,
Rereading Marquez’s story of sailors who ‘would be dead at the bottom of the sea’,
And writing this down with a pen borrowed from the cashier,
Encased behind glass windows and a display full of pastries and desserts,
Telling a bule, “Silahkan duduk dulu di dalam, Pak.”
On top of the display, an artificial Christmas tree modestly stood,
Its lights dimming and brightening slowly,
As though it was too lazy
To pull off yet another
Merry
Lie
Looking past it,
From this glacial seating,
I saw girls with bangs and ponytails in skinny jeans and geometric-patterned frocks,
one after another after another.
Every one of them seemed to blink along with the lights,
Like splinters of rainbow on a waterfall.
And I,
I called the only number I could remember
You picked up and said it was raining where you were
I know