Month: August 2012

Merahnya Dharamsala

selimut merah marun
masih bersibak harum
dharamsala

tetes salju pernah mengendap
dingin udara pernah meresap
dalam gelap

malam-malam sepi
dalam detak dada yang terbaring
jemari yang mencari
terkatup hingga pagi

di tanah ini
ziarah-ziarah sunyi
terjadi

dalam keheningannya
aku menghirup
segala kenanganmu
segala ingatan
dan memori

dan pada segala kehilangan
dalam mata biksu
yang menatap nanar
api yang tengah menyala

di tanah mereka
jauh disana

lilin tak lagi cukup menerangi
tubuh telah menjadi sumbu

betapa, betapa merahnya
dharamsala

dalam matamu
aku mengingat
segala cerita

pada akhirnya kita semua adalah pengungsi
dalam naungan buddha
dan dalam doa yang kelak
menyala dalam lilin biasa

The Red of Dharamsala

The red maroon blanket
still smell of Dharamsala

The drip of snow has once precipitate
The cold air has once seep through
In the darkness

Lonely nights
Inside the beating chest whom had lied down
The lingering fingers
Clasping together until morning

In this land
The silent pilgrimages
Existed

In its quietness
I breath
All your memories
All memories
Which once mine

And in every lost
At the monk’s eyes
That stared at
The burning fire

On their land
Far away

Candles no longer illuminate
Bodies has become the burning thread

How red, oh how red is
Dharamsala

Inside your eyes
I remember
Every stories

In the end we all are taking refugee
Under the auspices of Buddha
And in the prayer that one day
Can light like an ordinary candle

The East – Iswara/Uma

I come to your ear one day and like a river flow my mouth become yours. And my anger become the world. I’m dancing in this burning forest where my tears dry in deserted lands. No more trees left in this land. Deserted heart is what all I got.

How could I give you drink, when all poison destroy all my water. How could I give you food, when all the earth is barren. How could I give birth to life, when everything in my body had already being sucked empty. How did all my children had been gone, ruined, meet all their tragic fate of their own.

Listen, from my steps, my dancing steps. When my anger become the world. Listen, when this anger become the seas that rises above and the ground crack uncontrollably. I puff my breath like the mountains and my cough become a bloody hot lava. Have you forgotten me, have you forgotten me, my dearest?

I would make everything crystal clear when all this anger finish the world. And like an unborn child I would rock you in my stomach while I do my first dance when everything vanish. In your first lullaby I would be born again.

So dance with me, dance with me until the world is gone.

Catatan Ibukota

Ini sudah bukan sesuatu yang membuat lututmu melemas. Tapi lebih mengenai segala-galanya yang sulit terkatakan. Segala yang serba salah. Di relung-relung kota ini. Cinta menjadi sekaku percakapan di sebuah taksi. Bersalaman tangan menjadi beribu arti.

Aku seolah tak menangkapmu disini. Suaramu menghilang ke latar belakang sebuah restoran. Dan hanya dirimulah yang kulihat terduduk disana. Aku tak paham mengapa aku berada disini setelah satu botol anggur habis di bar sebelah. Aku tak tahu mengapa aku memelukmu dan tak mau mengatakan apa-apa.

Apakah kita bahkan harus berbicara?

Kadang aku ingin hilang kata saja. Menemukanmu pada sebuah pagi yang tidak terlalu dingin di balik balutan kain batik. Terselip disana dan diam dalam ingatanku yang sejenak. Namun tak menghilang jua.

Aku seolah menemukanmu terbelah di kota yang lain. Dan tak ada disini.

Menuju Laut Lepas (Towards the Open Sea)

:c.

jejakmu nampak
dalam sulur dedaunan
di sepanjang tanah jawa

your steps arises
in the vine leaves
across this land of java

waktu seperti mundur ke belakang
sementara kita tidak sedang berada
di atas kuda
pada sebuah jaman yang lampau
ini bukan sesuatu
yang bukan apa-apa

time took a step back
while we are not
riding horses
of the past
this is not something
that is not nothing

ketika kujejakkan kakiku pada tanahmu
suatu waktu
momen itu hanyalah untuk menunggu ingatan
pada sebuah tepian sungai
dimana aku menangkapmu
bagai ikan
dan melepasmu sepanjang jalan
pulang

when i step my feet on the ground of your land
one time
that moment only awaits the coming memory
on the riverbank
where i caught you
like the fish
and release you all the way
home

aku menatapmu berenang
menuju laut lepas
dan dalam perjalananku
aku menatap
ke arah yang kau tuju
laut, laut, laut

i see you swimming
to the open sea
and on my journey
i saw
to the direction you are heading
the sea, the sea, the sea

dan jejakku yang bergerak menujunya

and of my steps slowly going to the same sea

melalui sungai yang sama: ibu gangga yang agung

through the same river: the magnificent mother of gangges

The West – Wisnu

Smell of cempaka, smell of incense, smell of prayers. Early morning without sound. That silent longing. I see the sea through the taxi window. I see a pour memories coming into like the waves. I see those waves everywhere I look. But there was not lost. Or even that tinged of pain. It was surprising. I felt like standing in a small island and in a very vast sea without ending. I remember the Pacific. The blue sky. The golden shine of sand. The heat of the very best summer. I might eat some flowers with some coconut water. Silent prayers are everywhere and I was just still knowing, that I’m sitting in a taxi. Touching and standing in this very ground after three long years.

A sound of bell turn out to be the sound of a very dear friend. Who have been spending time very far away. Every time I see him, I see that small pinkish lotus flower tattoed in his right arm. It is like seeing a sign every time I remember him. And a hug feels like forever. Did I just come home then? Did that just feel like home?

Those smell of grass, waiting for the rain to come. Silent conversation at the very odd hours. I see mountains rise through his eyes when we were telling our stories and journeys. I remember some promises to be at the far away land. It feels not far anymore. In so many loses somehow we meet again to gain something out all the events of our lives.

I hear death knocking in every birth. That the sound of baby crying is the same of wailing. Women, women wome. Everywhere they always cry. At my son’s birth all these women before me came, gather and surrounds me. I just see my life flashes in seconds. I felt an earthquake coming through my body. An another being born amidst all cries. Did a cry always help you to feel better? Or to be better? I smell jasmine sometimes without reasons. And sometimes the urge to let go everything comes when I saw the South Sea. That feeling, the coming back to a mother’s womb.

Kintamani – Batur, 20th July 2012