31 Oktober 2016
Dini hari, Jakarta-Surabaya, Pukul 00.45


30 menit yang lalu, kau bertanya kepadaku,
"apa yang membuatmu bahagia?"
secangkir kopi, malam dan hujan jawabku
lalu kau mengernyitkan kedua alismu dan bertanya,
"kenapa? kopi itu pahit, malam itu sendu dan hujan hanya membawa pilu"

"Karena aku menyukai kejujuran pada kopi,
Ia jujur akan dirinya. ia yang pahit rasanya. ia yang hitam parasnya. tanpa bersandiwara. tapi itulah hal yang mencandu darinya.
Karena aku menyukai kesederhanaan malam,
Ia tak perlu harus bersinar, ia cukup indah dengan bintang di dalamnya tanpa dengki ingin menjadi siang.
Karena aku menyukai keikhlasan hujan,
Ia tetap ikhlas menjatuhkan dirinya meski banyak yang memaki dirinya dan berharap ia tak pernah datang."

kau termenung kembali,
dahimu berkerut memikirkan sesuatu
"apakah hanya itu?" tuturmu lagi
dan aku hanya tersenyum,

"aku hanya ingin menjadikan diriku seperti mereka, tidak berlebih pun tidak mengapa, hanya ingin menjadi dan merasakan kejujuran seperti kopi, kesederhanaan seperti malam dan keihklasan seperti hujan."*

kau tersenyum mengejek
"Kau terlalu naif" tandasmu dan aku hanya tergelak,
seperti itulah aku, jawabku
pada akhirnya, kau turut tergelak jua bersamaku
menutup pembicaraan dini hari kita kala itu.

It happened early one morning.
It happened like it always does,
times 3.

Strapped, armed, holding hands
what every loving mother
shouldn't do.

Word of it traveled
like the winter flu,
by noon everybody had heard

of maniacal faithers
who took home her children
lighting up fireworks.

The sun blazed dazedly
evaporating 3 crosses,
not quite melting the ice.

Until it reached my porch step,
it were but distant voices.
now it's here

and real. like it always is of course

but now it's closer than ever
bursting at my door.

Sliced up like a juicy tomato
his screams are muffled by
a screen screening bright information

into the heads of mouths
who offer surreal commentary
disguised as jokes.

We're terrified.
We're hypochondriacs fearing
contamination of a rampant

plague.
A plague we've never seen before.
Our ****** eyes.

So many have already
been ***** by fate.
Faith in fatherly beards

granting wishes to
obedient children
who go tarnishing other fathers' gardens.

What an absurd world
where IS is ice that
cannot melt.

What an absurd world
where children weep
at mothers' debt.

What an absurd world
where faithful supremity
reigns unchecked.

Pukul satu, kakiku melangkah ke sudut warung kecil itu
Sunyi, lalu ku pilih tempat duduk di ujung sana
Setelah memesan kopi, pilot ku menggores kertas
Yang sama putihnya dengan kulitmu
Tak lupa kubakar ujung rokokku
Yang namanya sehangat pelukanmu
Lalu kuhembuskan kepulan asap tembakau
Menguar sama harumnya dengan tubuhmu
Sepekat nikotin di pembuluhku

Ku tulis kisah kita, dari awal mula hingga akhir bersua
Yang terdampar di sudut kenangan dan rindu,
dan kupaksakan masuk ke dalam loker kerjaku
Sehingga lupa ku adalah tabu, dan memoir adalah *****
Dirimu ku lukis dalam surat ini;


"Di hingar bingar kota, dimanakah kau berada?
Jika lelahmu beradu, dimakah kau berteduh?
Aku disini kasih, Surabaya tempatmu lari
Menolehlah jika kau ada di sudut persimpangan
Mungkin, aku disitu mencari dan mencari
Sisa-sisa cintamu jika itu memang terjatuh
Menadah air matamu, jika itu memang tercecer.
Temui aku, jika berkenan menjumpa nostalgia"


Kuhembuskan uap-uap tar yang menguning
Menerawang di bohlam remang-remang.
Ketika kabut itu pergi, begitu pula aku
Saat api ini padam, redup juga jiwaku

Pukul tiga aku beranjak,
Bayar dan pergi
Surat itu kutinggalkan di atas meja.

Blue-green ocean tipped with whitecaps rolling toward the shore
Plane is humming with the pilot talking about life and your ride is there parked on the hill for easy starting next to the palm oil trees and oxen plowing the field with an old worn wood plow
The faded leather bag with delta memories is loaded to the jeep on a hill, the pilot is the driver and talks about this being a Japanese air base during the war, jeep looks good for thirty-five years hot sun is glaring down, the people stare
Intrepid, the vessel, is as faded as the bag and stands waiting, wanting to please her new chief as he walks the long pier to his home for twelve months or so, plane is humming and wiggles his wings as he passes over, you wave into the hot glaring sun
Captain greets you with a smile, dressed in khaki and a baseball cap that says captain, asking about mail and if you want a gin and tonic, for the mosquitos you know, first coolness you have felt since leaving Surabaya, what about another
Days are long and greasy and sweaty as you check out home, she’s purring like a kitten and ready for the sea swells and the crying sky and storms that lurk around the islands, you watch the brown bodies glisten as they throw nets catching the small fish
You walk the pier to the store you can buy beer and fresh coconut candy and something served on a coconut leaf that is extra hot and spicy, beer is as cold as the water well, the kids touch your hair and ears and tattoos and compare their skin next to yours

Duty calls and you sail to Surabaya for the crates and oil and helicopter fuel in barrels for the rigs, you spend the night in air con heaven with steaks and wines and big eyed girls telling you their family buffalo died, drinks are strong, you miss the island
You try to remember everything you will need back on the island, oranges and apples and cookies for the kids, Tanqueray and tonic, for the mosquitos you know ice cream and a box of chocolates for the old woman who gets the beer from the well
Work is done and we nestle back into our spot alongside the pier, shared the gifts with the kids and others, they are happy but want more, now it’s back to coconuts and bananas, I’m learning to throw the net for the small fish, the teachers laugh a lot
I’m diving everyday enjoying the mysteries of the sea, brain corals and rays hiding in the sand, small sea critters nibbling at my feet, the Captain leaves his room and walks the pier free at last from his demons, I venture farther out into deeper water
Having coffee on the bridge deck gazing out to sea when I notice a shadow, maybe a ray, maybe an old oil drum, maybe an old pirate chest, the pulse quickens as I ask the old Chinese deckhand to go with me in the twelve foot work boat
We get over the shadow and I can see it’s a plane, I dive down and it’s just a hulk that has been salvaged of everything removable over the years, an old Japanese warplane with memories as it lays there waiting for me to add to my memories
Over gin and tonics, for the mosquitoes you know the Captain starts talking about life, about his life of privilege, his kids and his wife they had a happy home with good schools and vacations and private yachts, his factory doing good
His son starts having trouble cannot seem to get along, complaints come from the schools, there is friction in his home he spends his money happily to buy his son some time and then the death of a vagrant man and his son has to pay for the crime
The son goes to prison but the Captain still has faith until the son does ****** again, the family spend all their money to keep one of them alive but tensions rise and words are said and the factory cannot survive
So now he’s a working man, his vacation is his home he tells me he has envy for the life I have known, a life I spent rambling ‘round the oceans of this old world, doing good and doing bad, while searching for that pearl

I bet the sounds inside my head were noisier than the sounds of cars that jammed in the middle of traffic in Surabaya.
Especially when it comes to rush hour.
I often caught myself were slowly dying.
And I'm not even sure who the hell I am.
But I'm always like this, isn't it?
Isn't it a tragedy?
For being someone who watches me with misery.
That's why I made this poetry.
But someone out there is despising this part of me.
I wrote this because my capability with words that I put and I spend to think are well composed than the words that I never been able to say out loud.
So please, honks by all means.
So I wouldn't hear the sound inside my head was talking about.

A nation splits in two
Noises in tube and ballyhoo
Fabricated news to spread and spew
Bias and distorted point of view
Serenity is long overdue
Stay calm without further ado
One or two, it's up to you
Remember what is always true
We are Indonesia through and through

                 Surabaya, March 28, 2019.

Where should I look for them?
Sounds echoed from valley of thoughts
Beautiful, soft and clear
Ones I'd always want to hear
It's been a while since then
Ventured further to the glen
Heard them and jot them down
But they are nowhere to be found
Maybe I have to go way deeper
Further down into the mind chamber
Keep wandering, in search of freedom
And be lost only to find them.
                      
                        Surabaya, March 21, 2019