Seperti Pilek

Seperti pilek.
Sebuah keadaan sakit yang sangat mengganggu diri,
dapat mengganggu orang lain pula.

Terutama bagi mereka yang membenci suara sentrap-sentrup rongga hidung,
atau terganggung dengan pemandangan lubang hidung yang kebasahan,
atau sekadar jijik dengan visual yang membuat mual.

“Hentikanlah meler-mu itu!”

Bagaimana caranya?

Aku hanya bisa berteman dengan pilekku ini.

Aku suka menggunakan tisu untuk mengeringkan hidungku,
walau tidak ramah lingkungan,
karena sampahnya menggunung di bawah bantalku.
Dan tentu mereka tidak suka dengan itu.

Ada juga orang yang suka membuang ingusnya di kamar mandi,
karena tisu membuat cuping hidungnya kering.
Dengan keras dia membuang ingusnya.
Dan tentu saja mereka tidak suka dengan itu.

Ada juga orang yang memilih tidur saja di kamar,
memberhentikan dunianya ketika pilek melanda.
Memilih untuk istirahat,
menghangatkan dada.

Menghilanglah dia dari peredaran.
Dan tentu saja mereka tidak suka dengan itu.

Menghentikan pikir,
melantunkan dzikir,
melafalkan doa,
atau
memakan pisang,
memakan cokelat,
atau
meminum air,
atau
bercerita dengan khusyuknya.

Dan tentu saja mereka tidak suka dengan itu.

Teman,

Apapun caramu berteman dengan pilekmu,
jika itu nyaman,

dan tak menambah sakit dirimu,

ketahuilah,

itu benar.

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Body language

One of the meanest thing I do to my body: to let it starve
And: to let it thirst
To let it cry without knowing why

To let it lose its language
The one our tongues took so long to learn
And now I just can not decipher

What does it mean to have a fever?
What does it mean that rivers,
Rivers of salt water released from the springs of the eyes
Could be so searing on the skin of my face

Forgive me, and let us be
Let us be amazed, once more
With the words we’ve known so long

[Transcript] Sam Sax – The Politics of Elegy

Politics of Elegy
by Sam Sax

Like anyone, I can make a list of the dead
I can make them my dead, by making the list
I can write my name, the name, names below it
I can craft and obfuscate and collapse
I can publish it
I can ask; who of us is left to tell their story?
This land of plenitude and pens, of plateaus and platitude and pens
This land is my land
The song says: this land is mine
How long have humans buried each other in the earth?
How long have we sung their names into absence?
How long have we been paid for that singing
Every architect expects to have people to inhabit their building
Every poet intends their poem to outlive them
Every piece of furniture in my room is shaking its head
What’s the difference between weeping alone and on camera?
What’s the gulf between an epitaph and an epic?
What’s a eulogy but a coin rising in the throat?
Eulogy from the Greek means praise
Praise from the Latin means prize
Every public dirge is burning capital
Every shirtless picture of him I keep is a small Virgil
Every hell I’ve traveled through is an expensive bird in my mouth
I was paid a thousand dollars for writing a poem about a dead man who hated me
I was paid and each dollar is a ghost in my wallet
I was paid and I am trading his body for bags of food
I am never more dangerous than inside the arms of a man who will die before me

*please correct me if my listening is wrong, below in the comments section :)

Statics

I met her
She cried inside my face
And I could feel her question
purging my sanity

She grabbed me by my neck,
plunging me into temporary death
“Safe,” she said,
“You’ll be safe.”

I know how she lied to me,
time after time.
Her language danced,
as if I craved her every syllable
to mean something to my ears,
tapping on its drums,
electrifying.

They don’t.
Her cries are screaming statics.

 

2016

Taksa II

Parit yang dalam tidak mengerti
apa yang dia jaga dan mengapa
siapa saja yang ditenggelamkannya
jadi batu dan minyak
jadi hitam dan pekat

*

Perang paling dingin terletak di
antara dua lekuk matamu
Di sana ujung jemariku keriput menggigil
Meracau mereka lupa akan diri

*

Terang yang paling fajar
merekah di mimpi Jenderal
Dia menanamkan detak jantungnya sendiri
di ulu hati-ulu hati para pangeran
Tombak pertama-tama hanyalah pagar rumah kita

*

Hujan tak mengenal tenda siapa yang ia basahi
Yang ia tahu tenggorokan kita kering menanti kemenangan
Dibuatnya tawar anggur-anggur yang memabukkan
lalu ia pergi satu musim penuh

2015

Memories

maybe i rather die all alone inside my head with a little sanity that has lingered long before the alarm rang. let me slumber in a meaningless nothingness.

14 November 2010 at 12:32

Send my regards to the early winter.
The first snow might hold some parts of me.
Ones that were dissolved by the rainwater.
Ones that have traveled way around the sea.

14 November 2013 at 18:30