Daun-daun

 

 

 

Mendengar ceritamu, sahabatku, aku merasakan cinta yang sangat purba. Kau dan dia tidak pernah gagal mengingatkanku pada Sang Cinta. Dan paradoks. Dan akar-Nya yang hunjam, dalam; kita yang hanya daun-daun lemah tertiup angin. Kita menunggu untuk jatuh dan jadi kering.

 

untuk sahabatku, yang berada di zona waktu berbeda

 

Bandung, 2015.

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Memo No: 08

Memo No: 08
October 14th , 2014

It’s scary how my perspectives have changed (about life) in just about a year. I feel like I’m always like this, but I have never gotten into this extreme, or I might have clouded my tendency with normal idiosyncrasies.

Money is a good thing to have, but it’s a bad thing if it governs you, or you use it to govern your life. I do think now that food is overrated, especially meat, moreover bred chicken, unhealthy ones.

I begin to question my ability to live in the future. Will I be a homeless person fluttering about how this world is a big ego fest? And that human is by mechanism always doomed to doom its own civilization? I can’t seem to find a way to do something about it.

But then again, I know something big is about small things done, day by day.

I loathe people, and so do people to me.

People are so mean. And they don’t have a clue of what they’re doing.

So am I, mean. I am people.

 

Happy New Year 2016

Tight grip or frozen lips

She demanded decimals
The fairy only have characters
and lumbar support,
The little girl hated sleeping
But the mom can not stop
swaying her comfort blanket
sweeping her eyes, nose, and eyes and nose

She demands, now, to know
the coldness creeping her arms
and spine and the bones of her legs,
“by name, I want to know you
by name.”

“I demanded decimals but I only got letters,
I can not possibly count you,
so I want to know you,
by name.”

“Why the tight grip and why the frozen lips,
grazing on my pores,” she asked.

“I can not leave you alone, for you
can not be contained in any
place, any space.”

“When your hair is on my face,
I can smell my childhood
falling apart or my
muses blank shirts.”

Any place, any space, when
your hair is on my face
I want to know you by name
Not your tight grip or
your frozen lips.
Grazing on my pores, more and
more, more and more.

2015

Salam, Sahabatku

Salam sahabatku,

Aku tidak mengira akan bertemu manusia sepertimu. Aku tidak mengira akan mengalami pengalaman-pengalaman aneh bersamamu, yang apabila aku coba untuk cari tak akan kutemukan di dalam kepalaku. Menurutku mimpi bisa lebih nyata daripada memori, namun mimpi-mimpi kita juga tidak kutemukan jika aku coba untuk cari.

Mengapa aku berkata seperti itu? Mungkin karena aku sedang terduduk di depan jendela yang gordyn renda putihnya berkibar-kibar di bawah matahari pukul 3 sore, di kota ini. Sedingin apapun kota ini, matahari sore tetap hangat dan selalu berhasil menganggu. Maafkan aku, otakku kosong dan aku tidak bisa menemukan apa yang akan aku katakan.

Sebentar.

Sahabatku, mungkin hanya denganmu aku telah menyelami perasaan-perasaan dalam dan gelap yang tidak kurasakan dengan orang lain. Jika kunci kebahagiaan adalah kerapuhan, maka denganmu aku telah memungut kunci dari dasar jerami dan memutarnya di kunci gantung gerbang tamanku, dan lalu, telah kusaksikan tamanku runtuh menjadi serpihan abu.

Aku tidak mengetahui rahasia masa depan, tapi masa yang telah kita lalui selalu kubawa sebagai tanda. Tidak mungkin Tuhan memperkenalkan kita tanpa maksud dan tanpa arti. Terima kasih cerita yang telah terbagi. Sebentar. Satuan terkecil apa dari cerita yang dapat terbagi?

Bukan paragraf, bukan kalimat, bukan kata, suku kata, atau gemertak gigi di sela-sela suara. Satuan terkecil yang tidak terbagi itu adalah rasa, bagiku. Rasa bahagia, hampa, sedih, marah, kecewa, dan bersyukur, menyelinap sekali-kali di sela diamnya bibir kita. Bibir-bibir yang tidak sering terlewati kata. Bibir yang mengulum meredam senja.

Pernahkah kita berbagi senja? Seingatku kita pernah berbagi terbitnya mentari. Dan gagal. Gagal melihat mentari itu terbit di ujung sana. Tapi tidak kita menyesal karena sentuhan jemari kita di langit kosong berhasil menghalau awan yang menutupi bintang-bintang.

Terima kasih telah memperhatikanku yang diam sepertimu di kerumunan kata-kata yang tak mengenal senyap. Terima kasih telah mengenaliku. Dari sebuah perjamuan api unggun purba aku pernah melihat tatapanmu, terima kasih sudah merapal mantra itu kembali di tepi telingaku yang tak awas lagi.

Mungkin seratus juta abad lagi kita akan bertemu, di dalam api menyala, di sebuah bintang yang kunjung padam. Dan aku akan bertanya kepadamu, “Apakah aku kenal denganmu? Pernahkah kita berbagi senja?”

Dan bintang itu akan padam seiring dengan tatapanmu. Namun, terima kasih telah mengenaliku.

Untuk harapan dan masa-masa yang tidak memiliki tentu, ingatlah bahwa sentuhan jemari kita di langit kosong berhasil menghalau awan yang menutupi bintang-bintang.

Salam,
Sahabatmu.

The Most

God writes the most exquisite love stories beyond any human understanding
It’s an un-settling un-setting sun in a horizon that is forever lost from our eyes’ sights
And the drums that are keeping the warriors awake are forever beating to its known temper
And the orange fever of the sky never asks the question why
The Love knows the sun too well
Too well, it cant be uttered, it can never tell

And yours are the most, and the most I know
But I can never tell
I can not ever tell

Kendal, 18 Februari 2015
with all the feelings I feel right now during my best friend’s wedding :’)

Anxious Bones

Hey anxious bones, why are you hugging me too tight?
I can’t breathe, you see.
These muscles are struggling, shaking, keeping you upright, standing on the thin ice.
These lungs are only capable to draw the smokes in.
The smokes which came from the ancient bonfire you lit every night before I fall asleep.
The ancestors had gathered and raised their hands above the flames,
chanting,

anxiety, anxiety, anxiety.

Their prayers surround the dreams I flock on my pillows.
The dreams in which I flew to you my distress call.
Where are you, I lost the track of you,
you walked too fast for a pack of ancient anxious bones like you.

Aren’t you that old, from the previous life.
I recognize your eyes so bold, at the dance of fire it came alight
Sitting across with your arms swaying in the air.
We both know our lips moved with no words spoken
Our silence hissing in the air, rattling like the woods kissed by the flame,
Speak of my name, and I will know you now.

Speak of my name, and I will know you now.

Yogyakarta, 2015

The Dawn is Coming

Many times, I do feel I don’t belong in a certain place, or circumstance. What about now? Am I in the right place, or circumstance? Looking at the bigger picture, I don’t feel like my life right now belongs to me. It is surely my life, as I move in space and time with it. But it feels weird and different. Is it a part of growing up?

You are shown many-many responsibility and choices. And many times you neglect responsibility just to have choices. Although of course in the end, you have to take care of the responsibility. Is it a process of growing up?

The world just stops and you think how you want to be in high school all over again. Life was fabulous, and looking back, you can handle it all. Right now you are aware of choices. Life sometimes is fabulous, sometimes so plain. But you feel like you cannot handle it all, because you are aware of everything. Your senses are more sensitive than ever, and your thoughts go too thoughtful. You think too much and you begin to hate what you are doing.

You hate it; you are reluctant to do it all. Your stress bumps out in a negative way. Not in a positive way that had burned your spirit years back. You want it all back, the power to turn everything, from hatred to fear, into a fuel to your action. You want it all back, the gasoline to your confidence. Hence the frustration.

You yearn for freedom and control to your life and mind. You knock on every door and window, yet your heart hasn’t replied you back. It is locked inside and it has swallowed all the keys. Deep within her stomach, they rust and melt away. You are lost and the sky has turned black. But they say that the night is darkest just before the dawn.

And I promise you, the dawn is coming,” – Harvey Dent, The Dark Knight