Ahad, 10 September 2017

cat is dead

I saw a cat;
dead.

And what happens when a cat
is dead?

The rats came out
abandoning their crouch:
they strutted
while noisily muttered,
"The cat is dead!"

without the slightest of fret.

Isnin, 21 Ogos 2017

seorang gadis yang ingin jadi penari

Tidak lama dulu, ada seorang gadis yang berhasrat untuk menjadi seorang penari.

Ketika cikgunya bertanyakan tentang cita-citanya, apa yang tergambar dikepalanya ialah bayangan dia sedang menari di atas sebuah pentas besar sambil liuk tubuhnya diikut tanpa kelip oleh pasang-pasang mata yang diam-diam mencemburuinya. 

Setia dengan citanya, dia tanpa jeda membalas pertanyaan cikgunya, "Saya mahu jadi seorang penari."

Dan cikgunya, seperti sekian orang-orang yang menganggap mereka sudah cukup makan garam, pantas mengajukan soalan kedua.

"Adakah dengan menari boleh memberikan kamu wang?"

Gadis itu tetap tidak berganjak. "Kalau wang yang diperkirakan, sudah tentu cikgu tidak menjadi seorang cikgu. Kerja cikgu ini tidaklah boleh beri banyak wang."

Cikgunya naik berang dengan jawapan gadis itu. Ujarnya, "Kamu biadap! Jaga tuturmu dengan orang yang lebih tua, tambah-tambah lagi cikgumu."

Dia langsung dihalau berdiri di luar kelas sampai habis waktu pembelajaran.

Ahad, 24 Julai 2016

Sæglópur

Sesederhana rindu ialah rindu seorang nelayan terhadap rumahnya sebelum petang mampir; dan rindunya kepada laut ketika musim tengkujuh hadir.

Jumaat, 22 Julai 2016

the clock that runs out of time

"Honey, wake up! It's 7 o'clock!"

I desperately cling to the sheet as she pulls it with tremendous strength, a strength not of a woman nor man but a protective mother who just gave birth to a beautiful child.

"Honey!" she yells in a pitch that would make a soprano bows her head in embarrassment.

"Yes, yes. I heard you the first time. Just gimme five more minutes."

She shook her head in disbelief and went to shower. I continue my every bit of second left shutting myself to sleep.

In what seems like a mere five minutes, I then woke up. Darling is nowhere to be seen; probably she had took off to work while mumbling how hard it is to wake me up everyday. It's not an easy task really. I always work until late at night, sometimes until the sun silently peeks over the horizon towards the moon, too shy to put a word to her.

I look at the wooden owl clock, a gift from my grandpa before he went on his last hitchhiking adventure and eventually died somewhere in the middle of a desert in Africa. I've never been close with him, but yes, I'm still his only grandson; and the clock, it was his only possession since he sold everything to pay for his adventure. Mum's freaked out when she heard of grandpa's grand scheme, yet she reluctantly agreed. Dad... well, dad's a dad. Kept his cool, fixed his gaze over the newspaper in his hands.

I stared at the clock; a long, hard stare. I noticed something was off with it. The hour needle was gone!

Now, it shows 45 minutes past... goddamnit!

I reach for my phone on the bedside table. Strangely enough, it shows 00:45:34. Again, I curse.

Wait, maybe if I wait for another fifteen minutes, the hour will appear. I went to shower.


****

I was talking to myself, arguing whether it is possible for things like this to happen or I just haven't woke up from my sleep--that darling is still in the shower, cursing me while she's at it; that it is just past six and the alarm I set last night just screamed. So I took my time.

When I was finished, I quickly got out and took a glance at the clock.

Dammit!

It was quarter past zero. I took the clock from the wall and gave it a hard, long stare. My eyes didn't deceive me; the hour needle was gone. At first, I thought it just fell, and that darling might just fooling around with me. That's it! She probably reset my phone clock.

I grabbed my phone before let out a loud sigh. It's still the same with double zeros at the front.

Ahad, 29 Mei 2016

requiem for the lost soul

"Every angel is terrifying."

Rilke wrote this in his long Elegies, repeated several times as it moves from one part to another. One, two, three, four... I lost count.

Every angel is terrifying. I am making Rilke's word as my own. Alas, aren't we all thieves? For words, scribbles, paintings, even thoughts are all stolen from one another. As some may put it, nothing is genuine since nothing has changed. Humanity is a tragedy, while everything else is a farce.

In a corner of the world, someone is silently praying; and if I may steal Rilke's words again, it is a silent pray of a terrified soul; for every angel is terrifying.

I saw an old man standing in the rain, drenched. He was smiling while spreading his arms wide, as though he was waiting for the angel to take him away from this wretched place, as though he was embracing god, when god himself is nowhere to be found. The old man was not alone. He was surrounded by people; men, women, children, old or young, they stared at him in disbelief, like he is a madman. 

His sin? Drowning himself in god's arms. But god was nowhere to be found.

And what about the men, women, and children you ask? They were all in a great hurry, pushing one another, with their umbrellas held high, scurrying towards the shelter. I was one of them.

Then the old man walked away from the plaza towards the shelter. He then stood in front of the people, in front of me, and asked: "What are you afraid of my dear children? For the terrified is the most terrifying one."

At that time, the rain has already stopped. People started to gather back at the plaza to get the first taste of sun.

"Old man, we are terrified of you," said a woman in a bluish coat.

"Old man, you are crazy," said a man in a skinny jeans.

"Old man, you could catch a cold. Please hurry and change your clothes," said a cheerful little girl before she was hush-ed by her mother.

"Old man," I stuttered, "I could not find god. It's been a long time, yet I don't miss him; not as much as I miss my mother."

He looked at me.

"Are we not a god for ourselves? For every angel is terrifying; to not be afraid of them is to be god himself."

Ahad, 6 Disember 2015

as you listen carefully

And if you might listen carefully to their mumbling mouth, conversed in a dimly soft manner, you would notice that; in the end, life is a collection of tragedies, and what is the beauty of it? Life itself is a hoax, a dreamy dream in a sleepless night. The kind of dream that you desperately create in order to ease you to sleeping, and yet, it will only drags you, keeping you awake, sometimes for an hour or two, sometimes all night, and sometimes for eternity. You would be gasping for air, kicking ferociously in the depth of thoughts, trying to release yourself from it. Disdained, you wait for life to let you take a break, and it's a terrifying thing; for you do not know whether the break would be momentarily or eternal. And yet you still go to sleep, because you need it, and for the most part, because you had always believed that death would never betray you as life does during the day.

Rabu, 2 Disember 2015

pretentious

He came by this morning. Unfortunately, I wasn't at home.

My neighbour said he seemed agitated. But I know he's furious. I asked my neighbour whether he had left any message to me.

My neighbour nodded and said, "He wants to kill you." That polite old man seemed worried. I had to assure him that he was actually joking.

Of course my neighbour didn't buy my story, but he let it passed anyway. Said he would keep a keen eye on me and adviced me to keep his number on a speed dial.

I had to do it in front of him, which I couldn't complain much. He was so persistent. I was really tired of work and longed for my bed since last night.

I got into the house. What a mess I have been these past few weeks.

I was too tired to do spring cleaning so I went straight to my room.

It was a disaster. I moaned frantically.

With a little will left in me, I pushed all the clothes aside and slammed myself onto the bed. It didn't take long for me to passed out. Like I said, I was really tired.


I was woken up by a loud knocks on the door. What time is it?

I tried to get up, but my body was too heavy for my head. I fell on the floor.

I rolled myself to face the ceiling. It's already dark. I have been passing out for almost half a day.

I stared blankly to the ceiling, hoping that my sights would penetrate it and found the sky. That was silly.

The knocks were getting louder. My head was getting clearer. I regained my consciousness and took a hold of my body.

It was really hard for me to synchronize my mind and body to do the bidding. Both were rebellious in their own ways.

I had to waste a huge portion of energy just to wake up. No wonder I always late for work.

The knockings were getting wilder, as if threatening to split the door into half. I walked to the door, still trying to balance myself while avoiding all those stuffs on the floor, figuring where the switch was.

I reached the handle. But the knocking suddenly died out.

I waited for about a minute at the door. No one was knocking anymore.

I turned myself away, found the switch, lighted the room, and let out a huge sigh once again. What a mess.

That can wait. I am hungry. I went to the kitchen, opened the fridge. Again, sigh.

Nothing in there.

I don't have much money to call for pizza. So i began ravishing the cabinet.

I found a canned sardine. So happy I was, almost knocked myself down to the sink.

Everything went accordingly afterwards. But the knocks still bother me.


I'm hearing the knocks. Again. It's 3 freaking AM. This dude should have some empathy. I have work tomorrow.

Wait. Why am I so sure it is a dude. That's really weird. Probably because of the old man's warning the other day.

I stare at the ceiling. The knocking seems like it won't stop.

I get up onto my feet. Walking pass the disastrous room towards the living room, reaching for the door.

Wait.

What if there's a killer behind it? I should consider that.

I peek into the peephole. There's a lady. Part of me let out a relieved sigh. She is my sister.

I opened the door. She jumped onto me and starts hugging me like I am some sort of a plush toy.

My sister is crying.

This is bad. There's only one reason that would make my sister comes here late in the night shedding tears.

Her husband is an asshole. I already told her that. Repeatedly.

I ask her what did that man do now.

"He slept with another woman," she sobs.

I don't know how to respond. This is not the first time things like this had happened.

"Do you need a cup of tea?" I moaned inside my head after I said that.

Making tea at this kind of hour would consume a lot of energy. What a stupid question to ask. I should just let her hug me and stay that way.

"No, thanks," I almost let out a good-choice-since-I-am-not-so-eager-to-make-one to her.

"Can I stay here tonight?"

I almost snap her neck into two. But she's my sister anyway, of course she can spend the night here. It would be rude to chase her out.

"Sure. The guest room is always yours," I don't know whether she read my phrase carefully.

I guess she don't since she hugs me again and again and keep saying 'thank you', 'you're so kind', 'you're my lifesaver' etc.

I don't mind, really. She can weep all she wants. But just don't bother me sleeping.

Like I said, I have work tomorrow.

"Would you mind spending an hour to listen to me?" She asks.

Are you crazy? Of course I would mind. Can't you see how hectic I am right now?

Again, it all happens inside my head.

"Talk me through," I wish I had stabbed myself for saying those words.

And then began a painstaking hours of pretending not to sleep, nodding once in a while, agreeing to whatever she is saying though I'm not really listening. And then it ends.

"Thanks for listening to me," she says. Just like that.

"You should get some rest."

No, I need to rest. Please let me sleep.

"You're always a dear to me," she hugs me before going to bed.

I was walking to my room when suddenly my sister screams.

"Who is this?"


Fuck. I forgot my neighbour is still there.