Rindu

Rinduku ini tak bertuan
mengembara di kereta-kereta
pada derit panjang dan
wajah-wajah yang sayu itu
tersesat sejak lama
di pucuk-pucuk rimba
entah kapan pulang

Rinduku ini juga menggema lantang
di kota yang riuh
terseok di antara sayatan malam
mencari pemilik

Light

tonight,
I listened to the rhyme of life
coming from your light
under the skyline
my world has lost its color
not dark nor bright
ooo, I’ve cut myself off
and withdrawn
have stopped to pray
for my own light
so you have to pray harder
than ever before
just pray for yourself
for your light to shine forever
it will guide me
to where I should be
because in you my world lies

this poem is dedicated to my beloved mom, for her prayers that never have an ending

Penjual-Penjual Roti Lauw

terkantuk-kantuk
penjual-penjual roti Lauw
memeluk gerobak
di depan pasar yang masih bau amis pagi
menghirup hitam asap metromini
terhentak nyaring besi-besi
pembangunan MRT
dan
klakson-klakson

enam ribu rupiah
kubeli roti gambangmu, Pak!
kukeluarkan satu setidaknya
dari gerobakmu yang masih penuh isi

Anak-Anak Kecil Dengan Payung-Payung Terkembang

Anak-anak kecil berlarian gembira di antara gedung-gedung pencakar langit dengan payung-payung besar yang terkembang. Kegembiraan yang kontras dengan kelesuan lelaki-lelaki dan perempuan-perempuan berkemeja yang tertahan hujan di depan gedung-gedung di hiruk pikuk jam pulang kerja. Anak-anak itu menawarkan payung-payung besar mereka sementara mereka sendiri basah kuyup. Tidak seperti sebagian besar yang mengutuki hujan sore itu, mereka justru tersenyum memamerkan geligi mereka yang kekuning-kuningan sebagaimana mereka menerima selembar dua lembar  uang dua ribu atau lima ribu dari kantong-kantong pengguna jasa mereka.

Anak-anak kecil itu mengakrabi tubuh dan kaki mereka dengan hujan yang membasahinya. Sandal-sandal mereka berkecipak di antara genangan-genangan air menyaingi bunyi klakson kendaraan di jalanan. Tubuh mereka tampak jelas di balik kaos lusuh basah yang menempel. Ketika mungkin sebagian besar anak-anak kecil seusia mereka berada dalam selimut dan meminum minuman hangat, mereka mengembangkan payung-payung yang bukan untuk memayungi tubuh mereka sendiri. Tapi payung-payung yang terkembang itu membuat mereka gembira.

Di balik jendela dengan secangkir kopi hangat seharga lebih dari sepuluh kali lipat dari yang anak-anak kecil dengan payung terkembang itu terima, sebagian orang mengutuki hidup mereka sendiri. Mengeluh entah itu tentang keluarga, cinta, harta, pangkat, surga, atau neraka. Berkutat dengan definisi kebahagiaan yang barangkali saja bukan definisi yang mereka buat sendiri. Barangkali perlu menengok jendela belajar dari anak-anak kecil itu. Bahwa mungkin sebenarnya kebahagiaan dalam hidup itu hadir ketika mengakrabi hidup itu sendiri. Seperti anak-anak kecil dengan payung-payung terkembang di bawah hujan.

Ama

I didn’t remember how long I’d stood here leaned on this pillar. I wondered why Ama didn’t come home for days. This was the first time he left me alone in our big house in such a long time. My sight was slowly blurred. I thought the world I was living in was going to be darker each time. My skin was wrinkled and my hair was all in white. I was easily crying over things I didn’t understand. It was like pieces of me evaporated to the sky. I couldn’t clearly hear sounds around me, couldn’t easily move, couldn’t feel food taste, I even couldn’t… feed myself. This body didn’t belong to me anymore. What I had now were memories about him.

More strangers came to the big house. They talked to me like we’d been close before. But I didn’t even remember their face and name.
“When does Ama come home?”
“He will never come home, Buk. He has found his new home.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s far away.”
“Can you take me there?”
“No.”
“I should wait, then.”
“Yes, you should.”
“How long?”
“We’ll never know.”

Ama wore his sarong, put turban around his neck, sprayed perfume as a final touch, and took his walking stick. It was Friday afternoon. He left home to pray Jummah at the nearest mosque. That was the last time I saw him because he never went back home. But his presence is eternal, more than mine. I felt like he’d always been here sitting next to me eating his breakfast, drinking coffee milk, and gave some humor in our conversation in the early morning. His frame was standing at every corner in the big house. The house that was too big for myself.

The terrace I sat every evening was our favorite place. We could see bright morning sky or starry night sky form the bench. But from the day he left, I only sat here alone by myself seeing people walking on the road.

I stood here again leaned on pillar like if I could find him walking with his stick on the road toward home, the road that stole him. I wouldn’t wait again. I would search for him because I was tired of waiting in the time that I could never see the end. The scent of him in my remembrance would lead the way to him.
“Where will you go?”
“To the road where Ama goes.”

This short story is a tribute to Ama & Ibuk (Kakek & Nenek)
Rest in peace Ama & Ibuk