the storm is in sydney, where my fathers next life were in a safe place

watching the storm, what we don’t know is the storm in sydney was

caused by evil spirits from the universe asthey drop the

lightning down over sydney forcing people to be scared and everyone is sydney

are looking up with amazement saying what a big storm caused by the spirits

of buddhas enermies are causing problems with the air of sydney

ummmmmmm the thinderr is erupting in sydney

ummmmmmm  evil spirits are in the air

ummmmmmm storms in sydney and bombs in jakarta

please buddha stop these evil ghosts from destroying our mother earth

ummmmmm whoever or whatever the ghosts are called, please make them surrender

before too many people are killed

ummmmmmmm please save jakarta from these terror attacks

no matter what, keep everyone safe, please keep everyone safe

ummmmmmmm please protect the innocent children who can’t get home

ummmmmmm make everyone not stray away from families and friends

ummmmmmm please make sure the sydney storms don’t spread all over

as the damage is too severe

we need rain in sydney but not the lightning strikes that they are getting

ummmmmmm stop the jakarta terrorist attacks

ummmmmmm come on buddha free the lightning strikes in sydney

ummmmmmm it’s terrible ummmmmm to see the buildings getting blown up

ummmmmmmm if people have relatives in jakarta, i hope they are ok

we want peace bring us peace, peace is what we need

Inspired by a real story.
Dedicated to Dust and Water.

Charlie.
The son of poetry, the sculptor of language.
The fire of my lust, a charm that shall ne'er end.
The prince of the sun, with such unchained melodies
and shades of green grass in his eyes.
Even the sound of his voice startled me;
For it was sweeter t'an the rainbow
T'at, to our skies, is sometimes too fabulous
to grow, and smile, and stay alive.

Ah, Charlie, your eyes but of autumn's green leaves t'emselves;
Undying and far more immune than the robust moon.
Oh, Charlie, but how my dream of you
Shall fore'er be an unspoken secret;
A secret of my ****** tongue
t'at remains forbidden to this world;
For 'tis too in this world t'at she lives,
And in 'tis life t'at she breathes,
Admires, and hates, as loved by you.
And thus any token of my love shall be a waste;
Shall be neglected, and be despised as an omen of doom.
For I am the daughter of the evilness of love—and so to her,
My love for you shall always be a herald of evil,
A spring of madness t'at needs soiling and throbbing away
Into t'ose wells of rigidity and notions of death.
Ah, Charlie, how you have gone, and shall be gone forever!
But for you know—although you are hers now, and only hers always,
Once I still thought I would meet you again someday.

You greeted me within the darkening roars of Jakarta;
Jakarta t'at was once like our hell and heaven;
Jakarta t'at is at once but trepid and magnificent.
Oh, and I remember t'at at t'at time, 'twas about to rain;
When I, standing by vanilla paper in my brown dress,
Was drawn by your soft beaming eyes,
Ah, Charlie, how my dried heart filled with love when I saw you—
I called to Him and prayed for your smile from above!
But then, perhaps you went away too soon,
And I, stepping home, cried and cried pools of maroon tears,
With a groan t'at was not fully satisfied,
With lust t'at, as I knew it, would never see a friend.
Ah, Charlie, the sole painter of my poetry!
The drawer of the scenes, whose words made me cry;
The teller of houses, whose fears made me want to die.
Ah, Charlie, how you are genuinely betrothed to your words;
And now t'at my heart is dead from its love for you—
All the world is but a lie and no more true.
Charlie, I despise love now; for 'tis no more t'an
A hateful stage of cowardly theatres;
A bunch of beasts t'at boastfully embrace
And show off t'eir love to one anot'er—
ah, just like t'is ring of monstrosity about me!
Ah, how vicious, vicious t'is menace of t'eirs is—
if only t'ey could unwillingly comprehend!
Thus I shall believe in no such remarkable lies;
For they trust in stories evil and not too nice;
And how t'ey smile to night and not to day;
And to even poetry t'ey have oft' none else to say;
For in vice is t'eir sole, sole triumph, my dear!
And for you know, Charlie, none is a poet in Yorkshire,
Their souls are but dried pipes of cold—and lumps of fire;
Perhaps they shall **** me before my soul even reaches heaven;
They are the ghosts of my virtues, the wand'ring spectres of my garden.
But was it you again, that laughed and sweetened my sleep last night—
and whose deep voices crafted such haunting poems like mine?
Everything sounded right when you were there, although they were false;
Ah, false indeed, like a piece of dishonesty awaiting troubled death;
When I had nothing else to give, but one sour last breath.
Ah, Charlie, after all—you are not here any more,
And Jakarta is but no more than a tender dream;
A dream I should perhaps forget—together with the chills
And idylls we once mercifully favoured.
Perhaps it was fate that did separate us;
Oh, how I wish it had ne'er happened!
How I still remember that noon—with a thousand suns
That were glaring at my head, I swayed my hair
By your side, as though the hills and the moons of England
were but all painted rightly next to your eyes.
Oh, my Charlie, how I have only words to play with now,
And perhaps tomorrow—for we have no future days together!
Yet still, if I had anything to dream of, it would be about you;
For again, my love for you was once pure and true;
I remember you like I do the lilies and tulips of dear Jakarta;
Wild in their toasts, too shiny in the darkest of places.
Ah, Charlie, but it is perhaps our vengeful fate,
That has robbed us of joyful virtues of late,
I am away from you, and my love—though dead, was once virile;
I shall pray for you, and think of you again once in a while.

I might have another love to attend,
Though I am too vexed, and obnoxious on my own to think;
I am unselfconscious of who I am;
I am troubled by the colours and spells
Of t'ese binding walls, as if there is no gift—
Even t'at one of love, t'at can absurdly cheer me
And bring my soul up, out of t'is sorrow—any more.
I am saddened, despaired, and deprecated by your tale;
I am now going to sit instead, by a cup of soiree ale;
I am going to rehearse the skins of my wit;
I shall test fate t'at want'd not to meet;
I shall conquer my own domains—and not anyone;
I shall think t'at truth is untrue—and evilness is but sweets and fun;

For a poet like me hath no love—and none to love with;
None loves me here, even for a sweet single bit;
I can see from the glass of t'eir eyes—t'at they care not;
They want my death, for it shall cut my poetry short.

Ah, how unfair, unfair and harsh t'is life for us is,
How 'tis but a worried flair for our aesthetic souls;
A craving t'at shall ne'er be true while it conveys truth;
A desire t'at is honest—while others want it to live not;

Ah, Charlie, how aimless and purposeless t'is eye should be;
For you are hers, and thus your charm can no more be with me;
I've been but a sad joke, in your present and perhaps in your past;
You talked to me back then, but knew your giggles should ne'er last;

And thus what I feel in my breast is blue, and shall ne'er own no end;
I shall now give up to time and let it carry my misery;
Perhaps I shall be wounded 'till the time of my grave though;
I shall be injured with t'eir inhuman love, lack of sweetness, lack of laugh.

Ah, Charlie, and your smile shall only be my severed utopia;
An unwanted song, amongst the deadly tears in yon grey forest;
Where ghosts are alive and ruthlessness is an endless unrest;
And my longing for you is useless—and ***** like an untended nest;
You are away, and neither in my view, nor in my sight;
You smell her hair every morn and noon, all through the day and night.

And your lust is a torch when it comes to her, and her only;
She to whom my love for you shall always be a mystery;
Ah, but a mystery she shan't come, or need t' care 'bout;
She who drowns your saliva by her voices out loud;

Ah, Charlie, now 'tis too late, and perhaps you should return to her sweet bed;
And address your new wife as she undresses and comes naked;
I shall be back soon in Coventry—before another storm goes mad;
And let Jakarta dwell alone, as he likes being on his own;
Let him fret over my tears that have silently gone;
And my shadows t'at are bound to dwell away, and ne'er return.

And let her stab your heart, with a love like a thousand spears;
Let her bury you in her cheeks, and remove your rightful fears;
For I am not one to offer you such happiness like t'at;
I who shall ne'er see you again, even just for one slice of dying breath.

For I wish to see, and open my heart to dear London;
Where I shall wander the streets, and lakes, though by my feet alone;
Waiting for a love that perhaps shall ne'er come;
'Till my breath goes out of me, and my fingers are left numb.

Ku terlelap seperti lalu lintas jakarta, berjalan dan berhenti, dari padat menjadi kosong. Yang tak tahu pergi kemana. Gambar-gambar yang lewat begitu saja seperti cepatnya kereta. Lampu-lampu jalan yang menerangi aspal hitam. penjual-penjual yang menjual minuman di lampu merah. Pengamen yang bermimpi membuat kemacetan menjadi hal musikal. Keringat-keringat dibalik helm dan jaket kulit. Tawa-canda dibaluti pendingin didalam mobil. Bis-bis kota dengan kepenuhan penumpang. Orang-orang yang mengumpat jika kau dengar dengan seksama, umpatan mereka begitu indah, tak ada seorangpun di bagian dunia lain mampu menirunya. para pedestrian yang semakin tergeser eksistensinya karena tak ada lagi ruang bagi mereka. Stasiun-stasiun yang nampak menakjubkan ketika sepi. Spanduk-spanduk keagamaan yang dipasang sembarangan sama layaknya dengan iklan-iklan yang berteriak ke telingamu tiap radius 10 meter. aku terlelap bagaikan lalu lintas jakarta. Aku tak tahu kemana.

JOGJA

“Jogja sedang berusaha menutupi kesedihan karena penyesalannya, buktinya akhir-akhir ini Jogja ramai sekali”
“Untuk apa Jogja bersedih?
Bukankah banyak yang mencintainya selama ini?
Buktinya Jogja bisa dengan mudahnya tebar keramahan kesana-kemari kemudian mendapatkan banyak hati.”


JAKARTA

“Jakarta sudah tidak kuat lagi menahan sakit perasaannya hingga ia menangis, buktinya kemarin hujannya turun deras sekali”
“Untuk apa Jakarta menangis?
Bukankah Jakarta begitu kuat?
Buktinya ia tahan mendengar suara bising dari banyak pasangan kekasih yang melempar janji-janji palsu selama ini.”


BANDUNG

“Bandung bingung menanggapi apa yang terjadi terhadap Jogja dan Jakarta, buktinya ia hanya bisa diam.”
“Tidakkah kau tahu bahwa bandung selalu bersuara?
Tetapi selama ini suaranya tersamarkan oleh suara hujan.
Buktinya suaranya tidak bisa dibuktikan.”

Jakarta, 25 Mei 2008

Kapan ku boleh ke sana
Dunia terindah untuk semua
Udara harum nan sejuk
Tiada panas mentari yang menyengat
Boleh kah aku melangkah
Menuju ke pintu surge
Impian semua manusia
Sudikah Kau Tuhan?
Bila ku pijakkan kaki di surge
Merasakan hidup istimewa
Penuh ayat-ayat doa
Surga-Mu  indah Tuhan…
Bolehkah ku sentuh sejenak
Merasa damai nan indah
Ku mulai masuk ‘tuk selamanya

Jakarta, 1986

Wanita berambut cokelat muda sebahu itu terlihat sedang asyik mengamati asap rokok yang ia keluarkan sebelum membuang puntung rokok ke tanah dan menginjaknya. Jalanan di Jakarta memang selalu ramai tapi tak satupun mobil-mobil yang sedang berlalu-lalang itu akan berhenti dan menghentikan apa yang akan ia lakukan setelah jam menunjukkan pukul lima pagi. Masih terngiang di kepala apa yang orang-orang katakan tentangnya selama ini.. *sampah, pelacur memang tidak pantas hidup enak, ingat ya, kau itu cuma pelacur ia memejamkan mata sambil perlahan menghitung berapa kali ia telah mendengarkan cacian setiap pulang.

Jam yang berada di tangan kirinya masih menunjukkan pukul lima kurang lima belas menit, ya lima belas menit yang ia gunakan untuk akhirnya mengingat perkataan Abimanyu. Laki-laki terakhir yang memberikan segalanya, harta, kasih sayang, dan waktu tapi ia tak dapat menikmati itu semua walau sudah mencoba beribu kali aku tidak akan pernah berubah menjadi laki-laki yang sudah menyia-nyiakanmu ,kau tahu bahwa seberapapun mahalnya berlian apabila yang memakainya tidak pantas maka akan terlihat murah?, kau terlihat cantik dengan apapun, aku melakukan semua ini karena aku tak sanggup melihatmu sedih, aku akan terus mencintaimu walau kau tak akan pernah bisa membalas perasaanku yang hanya akan selalu ia balas dengan aku sudah tak percaya cinta atau aku sudah tak punya hati hatinya telah membeku dicabik-cabik sejak dulu, sebelum bertemu Abimanyu. Air mata perlahan mengalir dari mata yang tertutup itu, lima menit lagi batinnya sebelum mengusap air mata yang sudah membasah pipi dan meluruskan gaun putih rancangan desainer terkenal yang diberikan sebagai hadiah untuknya tak dipungkiri gaun itu bernilai lebih dari penghasilannya selama satu bulan namun apalah arti uang disini?
Ia kembali melirik jam yang sekarang menunjukkan dua menit sebelum pukul lima, diatas jembatan layang itu masih ramai oleh hiruk-pikuk kendaraan.  Tenanglah tak akan ada yang mampu menyelamatkanmu.

Jam sudah menunjukkan pukul lima pagi, tanpa berpikir panjang ia melepas pegangannya dari pagar yang menopang tubuh dan terjun bebas tanpa ada perlawanan terhadap gravitasi.
**Tak semua bidadari hidup bahagia di surga

kau masih melukiskan jingga di kepala

bertanya pada sudut jalan yang tak pernah sepi

           “seperti apa senja di kota?”

ya seperti ini

tak dingin oleh kabut

tak terasa oleh waktu

kau akan sibuk menyeberang jalan

sebelahmu akan mati kejang – kejang

dan mereka masih akan meliput gedung

metromini memainkan dendang dengan kencang

selagi pengamen berteriak minta makan

           “dan kamu?”

mataku ini akan merah berair

           “kenapa?”

apa beda aku dengan senja di kota?

Terimakasih Jakarta
saya bersyukur. Sore itu ada kesempatan
dimana, segelas susu cokelat dan secangkir kopi susu, bertemu di hiruk-pikuk Jakarta
kali ini saya berterimakasih karena macet Jakarta. Seakan-akan waktu berhenti untuk mempertemukan kita.

waktu itu kita jalan keluar malam-malam
awalnya sedikit hangat didalam ruangan yang temaram
lalu kita melangkah keluar, dan dinginnya malam buat semuanya menjadi suram
sepertinya angin kencang menjalar dengan kejam
malam menjadi bisu, sambil berjalan pun kita berdua diam

lalu kamu menunjuk-nunjuk bangunan dengan lampu-lampu dan dinding kayu
sepertinya hangat disitu, kalau tidak salah kamu bilang begitu
saya setuju
dengan kamu saya selalu setuju
dijalanan kecil kita melangkah kesitu buru-buru

didalam sana udara dingin sudah tidak terasa lagi
dengan hati yang riang saya pilih coklat panas dari menu yang kamu beri
kata orang coklat bisa menghasilkan hormon endorfin
bisa membuat hari yang sedang bermuram durja menjadi tersenyum kembali

lalu saat itu coklat panas sudah ada didepan saya
saya sentuh pinggiran gelasnya
hangat
saya minum perlahan-lahan
sedikit demi sedikit, tanpa tergesa-gesa
sengaja
karena tidak terlalu besar ukurannya
kalau cepat habis bagaimana?

lama kelamaan habis, semuanya juga akan habis
saya ingin gelas kosong bekas coklat panas ini tidak digubris
tapi akhirnya pelayan itu datang dan mengambilnya sambil tersenyum manis
kehangatan kembali terkikis dan menipis

kita kembali berdiri dan keluar menelusuri malam yang dingin
kembali bergelut dengan angin
ingin saya bawa satu gelas coklat panas itu lagi
tapi dia akan membeku seiring berjalannya waktu, mungkin

tanpa suara, saya tahu kamu mendengar
tanpa cahaya, saya tahu kamu melihat
tanpa kata, saya tahu kamu mengerti

maka, terimakasih untuk ‘coklat panas’ nya.
mungkin bisa kita seduh kembali suatu saat nanti


Jakarta, 27 Desember 2012
*(puisi ini bukan tentang apa-apa. puisi ini tidak berarti apa-apa. puisi ini tidak ada yang mengerti selain saya dan satu orang lagi. puisi ini tentang sebuah Rahasia)