Cerpen: Aldrich dan Mimpinya Menjadi Wordsmith

Pemuda miskin itu bercita-cita menjadi penempa kata-kata: penulis. Tepatnya Wordsmith. Cita-cita yang cukup ganjil di sebuah hamlet (desa yang lebih kecil dari village), yang hampir genap menjadi surga para tukang besi.

Ferroshire adalah hamlet yang memiliki 2 ritus peribadatan: setiap pagi warganya yang hanya berjumlah 69 jiwa menyembah patung paron setinggi 13 kaki—yang berlapiskan emas—setiap malam, mengitari sebuah bangun ruang; kubus besar berwarna putih yang di dalamnya ada sebongkah meteorit (benda langit yang terdiri dari kombinasi mineral nikel dan besi) sembari menenggak Wine Putih (sejenis minuman dari anggur yang dapat memabukkan) hingga tak sadarkan diri sampai pagi.

Ferroshire, cukup jauh dari town (kota yang lebih kecil dari city). Begitu pun dengan Aldrich yang cukup jauh dari cita-citanya. Ia hidup bersama kedua orang tuanya yang naif, religius sekaligus bodoh. Sehari-hari Aldrich membaca buku-buku bekas, sesekali mengarang puisi, seduakali prosa, kadang-kadang cerpen dan berbagai karya sastra lainnya di perpustakaan Loreshire yang berjarak sekitar 4 mil jauhnya.

***

Aku memiliki nama lengkap yang terdengar sangat arkais: Aldrich Wildburn. Aku suka membaca. Tapi keluargaku tak pernah membaca bahwa aku suka membaca. Ayahku adalah seorang Shaman (dukun) yang taat dan puritan bernama James Archaicson. Sejatinya, ia adalah satu-satunya dukun di Ferroshire. Meskipun ia selalu mengatakan, berkali-kali, dirinya adalah Cleric (pemuka agama) bukan seorang Shaman.

Sedangkan ibuku, yang bernama Dorothy Swan adalah seorang petani anggur yang tak memiliki Winery (kebun anggur). Ibuku hanya diberi kewenangan untuk mengelola kebun anggur milik bersama, warga Ferroshire. Karena ia dikenal handal dalam memfermentasi anggur dengan varietas Seyval Blanc menjadi Wine Putih untuk keperluan acara peribadatan.

Kedua orang tuaku tak pernah mengamini keinginan anak semata wayangnya ini, karena mereka merasa menjadi Wordsmith adalah hal paling pandir yang dilakukan oleh seorang pemuda dari Ferroshire. Ditambah, ayahku terus memaksa anaknya yang kikuk ini—menjadi tukang besi yang mengultuskan logam mulia dan meteorit dengan Lingua Sacra (mantra-mantra; bahasa liturgis) secara turun temurun.

***

Saya paham. Sungguh saya begitu paham. Saya rasa, saya sudah sangat lama hidup di hamlet suci ini. Di dunia ini. Pengalaman hidup saya sudah banyak. Bahkan terlalu banyak jika saya ceritakan. Saya tahu apa yang terbaik bagi anak saya. Saya hanya ingin melihatnya tumbuh seperti anak-anak biasa lainnya. Menjadi seorang Smith (pandai besi).

Seperti yang sudah ditakdirkan. Dalam kitab suci. Semenjak hamlet ini didirikan Dewi Vulva Yang Mahakubus dengan komposisi logam, meteorit dan anggur. Semua itu terepresentasikan dalam ibadah suci kami. Menjadi Cleric tentu adalah tugas suci. Seperti semua anak lelaki di Ferroshire yang bercita-cita untuk menjadi Smith. Dan menjadi pembuat anggur yang piawai, serupa istriku, yang selalu dimimpikan setiap anak perempuan. Saya yakin. Sangat yakin.

Saya tahu, Aldrich anakku, pasti merasa terasing bahkan diasingkan—oleh teman-teman sebayanya. Semuanya sudah belajar untuk menjadi Smith yang tekun dan pandai. Saya sebenarnya malu. Malu untuk mengakui. Menerima kenyataan. Jika anakku satu-satunya malah menjadi seorang kutu buku yang berpenampilan absurd. Dan berkelakuan kikuk.

***

Pasalnya, tindak-tanduk Aldrich memanglah avant-garde (tidak lazim alias sering menabrak batas-batas norma dan budaya yang ada).

Sebagai contoh, di hamlet tersebut, para pria memiliki rambut klimis—tetapi Aldrich memiliki rambut absurd yang lebih mirip dengan rambut seekor keledai di film Shrek—bernama Donkey ketimbang rambut manusia di Ferroshire. Bahkan ada semacam lelucon yang terkenal di desa Ferroshire: “Andai kata kau adalah seorang pendatang yang memiliki otak secemerlang Isaac Newton saat tertimpa buah apel—maka kau tetap tak akan pernah mengetahui alasan mengapa hamlet ini dinamai Ferroshire bila kau memilih untuk duduk dan berbincang bersama seorang keledai yang memperkenalkan diri sebagai Aldrich selama lebih dari 3 menit.”

Seiring dengan berjalannya waktu. Aldrich muak dengan semuanya: keadaan, keluarga, desa dan kepercayaan yang dianut di sana. Mimpinya untuk menjadi Wordsmith pun tak dapat ia tahan-tahan lagi. Saat Aldrich Wildburn mulai beranjak dewasa, ia memutuskan untuk pergi ke town: Illuminatown. Adalah kota kecil yang berisi para filsuf yang terkenal bijak—juga para bangsawan yang sangat menghargai filosofi, seni dan sastra.

“Barangkali dengan pergi ke town lain di sebelah barat sana, aku bisa mewujudkan mimpiku bahkan mengubah nasib kita,” ucap Aldrich Wildburn dengan lirih kepada kedua orang tuanya.

Mendengar hal itu, James malah naik pitam, karena ternyata ia dan Dorothy sudah menghabiskan seluruh tabungannya untuk mendaftarkan Aldrich ke Sekolah Pandai Besi terbaik di Ferroshire. Pendek kata, Aldrich terlibat pertengkaran dengan kedua orang tuanya. Ia bahkan ditonjok ayahnya sampai 2 buah gigi serinya—tanggal bersama darah yang mengalir dari gusinya.

Aldrich juga mendapat makian yang menyayat hati: Anak biadab! Lihatlah, betapa gagalnya kau menjadi anak. Durhaka... Kau adalah anak yang gagal dan hanya akan menjadi manusia yang gagal! Aib keluarga! Beban keluarga.

***

Aku diusir dari rumah tepat di sepertiga malam. Aku berjalan dengan sempoyongan. Lalu sampai di ujung hamlet laknat ini: tempat di mana semua penghuninya yang dungu mengitari kubus putih searah jarum jam—dalam keadaan mabuk dan setengah trace (kesurupan). Ketika ibadah tutup mata (menutup mata selama 300 detik sembari melafalkan mantra-mantra yang dikarang Shaman) dimulai, aku dengan cepat mengencingi kubus itu kemudian berlari.

Pada pagi buta, sebelum aku benar-benar pergi meninggalkan semua kebodohan ini, sebelum orang-orang menyembah patung paron emas setinggi 13 kaki—aku melumurinya dengan tinjaku sendiri. Dengan dendam yang membara, aku berencana merantau ke Illuminatown yang akan kutempuh dengan berjalan kaki selama 27 hari.

***

Pada siang hari, para tetua hamlet mengumpulkan seluruh warganya. Bertanya. Siapa bajingan yang tega mengencingi dan melumuri tempat paling suci di Ferroshire—dengan air seni dan tinja. Semua diam. Namun salah satu tetua hamlet menyadari satu hal, ada satu orang yang tak datang: Aldrich.

***

“Anak jahanam! Berengsek!” teriak saya tanpa sadar. Sontak seluruh mata tertuju pada saya. Saya dipanggil oleh para tetua hamlet. Setelah saya berunding dengan mereka. Selepas meredakan berang yang kepalang mengudara di dalam kepala. Saya dan para tetua, sepakat membuat sayembara.

Ya sayembara. Bagi siapa saja. Siapa saja yang bisa membawa batang hidung si tolol Aldrich ke hadapan saya dan para tetua hamlet,  akan dihadiahi 1001 keping emas 24 karat dan sebuah tiket untuk mengakses 72 rumah bordil yang ada di Ferroshire seumur hidupnya. Hadiah yang sangat menggiurkan. Tentu hadiah itu akan diberikan oleh tetua hamlet. Saya tidak punya harta dan kuasa sebanyak itu. Tapi saya, saya berjanji, kepada siapapun yang memenangkan sayembara. Saya akan memberikannya sebuah ilmu gaib yang dipercaya dapat melunakkan besi dengan tangan. Seperti mukjizat David.

***

Detik berganti menit. Menit berganti jam. Jam berganti hari. Hari berganti minggu. Minggu berganti bulan. Bulan berganti tahun. Tahun demi tahun. Tak ada yang memenangkan sayembara itu. Setelah kepergian Aldrich yang entah ke mana, James dan Dorothy selalu memikirkan keadaan anaknya itu. Mereka berdua jadi sakit-sakitan.

Selepas kejadian itu James pensiun lalu digantikan Shaman yang baru. Begitu juga dengan Dorothy yang terlalu tua untuk sekadar menggarap Winery. Warga hamlet tak ada yang peduli pada mereka berdua.

Tapi tidak dengan Aldrich, yang diam-diam ternyata mengirimi mereka uang dan makanan dengan nama samaran ‘Hamba Vulva’ Mereka berdua tak menyadari, selama ini anaknya masih peduli kepada kedua orang tuanya.

***

“Wahai suamiku, selama ini aku bertanya-tanya siapakah orang di balik Hamba Vulva yang setiap bulan selalu mengirimi kita uang dan makanan yang banyak,” ujarku dengan kebingungan kepada suamiku.

“Saya tidak tahu. Satu yang saya tahu, tentu itu semua bukan dari si tolol Aldrich!” seru suamiku, James.

“Lantas jika bukan anak kita, siapa lagi? Mungkin kau pun tahu, setelah kau dan aku pensiun... Tepatnya setelah kejadian itu, warga Ferroshire tak pernah peduli lagi kepada kita. Jadi rasanya tak mungkin jika uang dan makanan itu berasal dari kantong dan dapur mereka,” balasku, dengan intonasi dan nada yang masih sama.

“Terserah. Jika itu yang ingin kau percaya. Aku hanya percaya. Makanan dan uang ini adalah hasil dari pekerjaan kita yang suci. Mengabdikan jiwa dan raga pada Dewi Vulva. Sekarang kita tinggal menikmati buahnya. Sudahlah, malam sudah terlalu malam. Lebih baik kau istirahat. Sudah ya? Aku lapar,” tutup suamiku yang kemudian mematikan lampu, lalu pergi ke meja makan untuk makan malam, sendirian.

***

Ayah. Ibu. Andai kalian tahu, sekarang aku sudah sukses. Impianku sudah tercapai. Mereka bahkan memanggilku dengan sebutan Shakespeare yang baru. Terkadang mereka melabeliku sebagai reinkarnasi Dante, penyair idolaku. Bagian terbaiknya aku selalu bahagia, punya banyak uang dan koneksi yang luas.

Di sini, orang-orang begitu menghargai hobiku, tulisanku—diriku. Di sini, aku bertemu banyak orang hebat. Terlalu hebat untuk aku gambarkan kepada kalian. Kepala mereka seperti perpustakaan. Mata mereka begitu banyak. Karena mereka, mempunyai begitu banyak sudut pandang. Mulut mereka begitu seksi ketika mengucapkan kosakata yang tak pernah aku tahu. Town ini seperti tak pernah bosan membuatku terkagum-kagum, mungkin karena sangat kontras dengan Ferroshire, tempat di mana aku dilahirkan.

Ayah. Ibu. Aku takkan pernah lupa darimana aku berasal. Namun pertama-pertama, maafkan aku. Bagian terburuknya adalah aku takkan pulang. Sampai kapanpun. Aku sudah nyaman di sini. Tapi atas dasar cinta kepada kedua orang tua. Aku akan menyisihkan setengah dari penghasilkanku dan sedikit makanan untuk kalian berdua. Semoga itu dapat membantu.

Aku tahu, kalian bahkan tak tahu aku masih hidup atau sudah mati. Apalagi mempercayai akulah orang di balik 'Hamba Vulva'. Namun percayalah, cinta seorang anak kepada ayah dan ibu takkan pernah luntur seperti cinta ayah dan ibu kepada anaknya. Percayalah, aku cinta kepada kalian berdua, selalu.

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Puisi: Le Mythe d'Icare

/1/

pantheon hancur lebur, serupa Yunani kontemporer yang dihantam inflasi. namun akan aku ceritakan kembali, perihal Yunani Kuno: Homer; Diogenes dari Sinope; Thales dari Miletus; Xenophanes dari Colophon; Alcmaeon dari Croton; Zeno dari Elea; Tyrtaios dari Sparta; Archilochos dari Paros; Solon dari Athena.

/2/

akan aku ceritakan kembali, romantika: Hipponax dari Ephesos; Stesichoros dari Himnera; Sappho dari Mytilene; Anakreon dari Teos; Pindar dari Thebes; Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Alkaios, Mytilene, Aesop, Hesiod, Herodotus, Thucydides, Demosthenes, Menander, Socrates, Aristoteles, Pythagoras sampai pada tokoh-tokoh Grika yang tak pernah dianggap ada.

/3/

o sayang, betapa kita dan Mitologi Yunani pernah benar-benar bernyawa, benar-benar menyala kemudian padam—setelahnya, Sisyphus berhenti mendorong batunya—setelahnya, Apollo larut dalam tangisnya hingga menenggelamkan Dionysus beserta kemabukannya.

/4/

setelahnya, langit-langit di atas Zeus yang gagah tiba-tiba ambruk—lautan-lautan yang tenang di tengah-tengah Poseidon, karam—dunia-dunia bawah di bawah Hades perlahan-lahan mengirap tanpa sisa.

/5/

di kegelapan bumi, seumpama bunga, cahaya layu tepat di atas tangkainya sendiri. semasih bunga daffodil menandai kelahiran kembali. sekali lagi, Hiraeth tersesat di sayu matamu; seperti pengembara yang tak ingin pergi.

/6/

setelahnya, bunga iris dari Elysium berguguran saat musim semi, memudarkan simposium & waktu—setelahnya, api yang telah dicuri Prometheus hilang seperti Atlantis—yang ditulis oleh Plato dalam buku Timaeus & Kritias yang melegenda.

/7/

mungkin benar, bahwa beberapa kota yang hilang—terlalu indah untuk ditemukan kembali. mungkin juga benar, ternyata beberapa hal terlalu sempurna untuk menjadi nyata di muka bumi.

/8/

namun adakah musim semi bagi air mataku yang mengalir, lalu membanjiri kolam tempat tenggelamnya Narcissus beserta obsesinya sendiri? dari Athena sampai ke Kreta, bulan menyinari kemenangan Sparta. dengan lilin & bulu, aku menantang takdir & gravitasi.

/9/

o sayangku, di sisa-sisa detik yang tersisa dari waktuku—aku memutar piringan hitam petanda nostalgia: terbang menuju ibu kota hatimu adalah kejatuhan yang disengaja.

/10/

& pada akhirnya, segala yang bermula pasti berakhir—akhir dari puisi ini, aku hanya ingin berkata: bahwa aku mencintaimu lebih dari aku mencintai Yunani dengan segenap mitologinya; bau garam di Laut Aegea; sinar matahari, kejatuhanku & diriku sendiri.

(2021)

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Genrifinaldy's Poetry

One Season Into Man

Yes. Yesterday, the clock soaked a flock
of birds that sang the most noisy song
of silence. Sounds euphonic, but pathetic. Because those tunes; soon be words
in the world like raindrops fell, then echoed in the wells of nonsense. Fate always doesn't give a damn: like when I was born, thereupon condemned to be a cage—who yearns lifelong for a bird. Just in case, just to answer the question of essence.

(2021)

Loneliest Loneliness

When a loner at loneliest loneliness,
they leave a void noise and choice—
so it tends to be easier: to speak lessness,
to feel nothingness, to smell meaningless,
to hear and see nothing but essence that disappears in everything that appears in
the face of burned petals; to hide and seek
inside every verse on the brightest poems
in vasty, darkest, random, absurdly and cold-hearted of this transitory universe.

(2021)

The Pinata

"Are you a broken pinata? Cause you used to be filled with so much sweetness—but now you broke by unknown bitterness. You've taught me to laugh. Have you forgotten or tried amnesia? That you give me a trace to spell grace. To forgive all fate with no regret. To live every inch of life in every sight. Won't give up without a fight. Like the brightest sun in the solar system. The loudest anthem in this noisy world. Oh my word. But look, take a look: on the outside you're the greatest guy, now you are just empty inside. Who slowly turns into the worst of remorse." said the stick that bangs the pinata merciless and the worst part, without even realizing it.

(2021)

Existential Crisis

In the morning, a rotten table patiently waits for a chair in the dining room. During the day, a hammer prepares to meet the presence of a rusty nail. In the afternoon, a shabby curtain shielded the windows before the night set the doom.
At night, just as the day wanted to change the sail, I was suddenly pulled out of my mother's womb—without having a chance to ask her brain: "Mom, what comes first, essence or existence?"

(Bogor, March 27th 2000)

Existential Nihilism

Everything that we don't care about, again, slowly turns into just a meaningless thing: smelly cabbage in the garbage; crumble can in trash can; new style that already old-fashioned; fashion plate who can't find another doorbell; fracture door in the midst of broken home; doormat based on shoddy cloth; noble lie in the table of time; time bomb that already exploded; passer-by who pass away yesterday; road map that map out a walk out; wallflower who suicide as like withered flowers by the roadside; my wonderwall that turn into the wall in a little fable of Kafka.

(2021)

Eternal Recurrence

We lie then gaze at the constellation.
But no, the stars that look at us. We
know we suffer more in imagination
than in reality. So we leave the past
alone with memories. But we're
too often in a long distance
relationship with reality. Like a star,
we are too distant from actuality.
When we look at the stars,
we're actually looking at a
star tomb; a long time ago.
So we will go toward the future. To
be sure, we will use a time travel
machine. But baby, we only found
each other's skin. Letter at our funeral, another burial, drifted into an
endless void of misery. Stagnant;
recurring again, again and again.
Without end, cyclical. Dead stars
cynically tell us a dreadful thing:
Both of you need Amor Fati!

(2021)

The Encounter with Nietzsche

You may feel empty,
at least you still have space inside
: half for the bitter tears of the god,
half for the fallen fate of the devil,
entirely for your gravity to fall in love
with destiny—create undefeated
significance for yourself.

(2021)

Fatum Brutum Amorfati

He pushes his stone from stone age—until stone-cold. Old and desolate; while his thoughts only for happiness. Down with absurdity, through alpha to omega. O pathetic fate who can't fade by death. Season changes, but Sisyphus always ends up dead end. Changeless; no matter how, like a Sigma Notation. No exit or without time out. Time after time, time is up. He was up in his arms. Arm in arm with give up.
Up in the air, he was still down and out. Suddenly there was a little knock inside his heart—he found a mighty god that smiled at him, then he wanted to push on his stone again and again because finally he knew: the struggle to the top in itself is enough to fill the void in his heart and the pressure to be happy is too unhappy than to push a goddamn stone more, more and evermore in eternity.

(2021)

Word; World

There is no world without words
But when I see another world; yours
I lost my words; wordless
I thought about your word
Even though that is tough
Through every syllable: thorough.
I found every word has a world;
And I love every world in your word
And so every word in your world.
Now, you make my tongue so fragile—
Don't know the tenses if it is past,
present, or future, and forget
what language to speak in.

(2020)

The Sun & The Moon

In the sun, on the moon. Now or coming soon. I will take you to the noisy colosseum, the serenity of the mausoleum, muses at the museum, then kiss upon your brow in every comely place. O I'm the mess: I will hunt you in the most beautiful way; Hunt you down like a prey. Then die inside your head. Cause upon your brow are the sun
and my lips are the moon. Sounds brainless—but someday, you'll finally understand why sometimes time and reality feel so timeless.

(2020)

Under The Sun

I want your passion
But, don’t ask questions
you don’t want the answers to.
Too twinge, to be or not to be
In the long run that last long.
Like a longing; ringing so long
When it makes me stoned
Or makes you strange.
O baby, thinking about you
You're inside my head
Even being a king, I feel so dead.
O look, I creep till I overslept
Oversee the moon and their crap.
Who misses the good old days
that were mostly coated with gold.
Remind me how dark the night was.
How does your touch make me alive?
How bright the sun fades into crush—
when life slowly bursting out of dust.

(2020)

Skinny Love?

The world misses the boat.
Wordsmith is going to be afloat.
Time flies really fast;
The red throne brings the past.
The rose is red, the violet’s blue;
Blue whales are shy, and so are you.
A stone's throw himself, dregs!
We had butterflies in our stomach.
I thought we were going to fail—
but you pulled a rabbit out of the hat.
The sailor set his sail;
The sunrise turns into sunset.
Bon Iver sings a Skinny Love:
"My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my"
My longing sinking in doubt;
Even you are the apple of my eye.

(2020)

The Devil Smile, With the Angel Eye

Suddenly, flames came out.
Paralysed, but a fire shout;
Can a water suddenly lame?
Can a blue speak your name?
Have we discovered purple?
In this sand, full of gravel.
Have you ever loved my red?
Or just tread the water, oh wait...
Out of date, or out of breath?
Out of doors, or out of remorse?
Out of the box, or out of the blue?
Out of control, or out of you? Oh, baby!
Damn, which of us was to blame?
Time after time;
Your devil smiles kill-time.
At the end of the war, you cried...
Then stab my veins with heavenly
touch and angelic eye.

(2020)

Linguistics on Your Lips

There are more than 127.000 words in the Indonesian Language, approximately 1.022.000 words in the English Language, 5.000.021 words and 70.000.000 word types in the Greek Language—but I could never string enough words together to properly address, to perfectly express: how much I weep at this version of imperfection, how many these improperly miss every inch of your lips. That's all my language felt when you left my lips; is like all of Langage, Langue, and Parole perfection in our last kiss suddenly go to pieces.

(2021)

Tense of Your Veins

You're far away, time was so insane,
and I am parable of madman.
Where is present tense?
Did a voice that sounds tense make the hearers feel tense?
 
What happens in present tense?
Does it die just like future tense?
Melt solitude eternally, just like your name,
Sempiternal in my bastard brain.
 
Yesterday as much as yesterday and the day-before,
Crept into the past, to your veins.
To the last syllable of your lips,
while all my tomorrows were lighting more
To now, perhaps, this multi-diverse present tense is a damned apocalypse.
 
This madman is an utopian afloat in your universe:
That does not have past, present or future tense,
because
I'm a madman, who always going reverse to your veins, even though my pain was so insane.
 
(2020)
 
V60 Coffee, Me and Thee

Shall I serve you v60 coffee?
And won't you give away, a day with me?
For there are billions, of coffee-grounds in just one filter paper
For the first time since you let every drips, bliss, guttered to a cup of frigid shelter
 
When the wind, wound and hiraeth blew in the breeze
I said with a desperate, won't you come home, please?
When you asked for a cup of desolate,
I always said hell no
This time, time flies, as butterflies, oh heavenly if the answer isn't as so
 
So, shall I serve you v60 coffee?
While waiting you to bloom, then boom, a moment of you and me
Or shall I brew myself, sold my abandoned soul to instant coffee
Than have a cup of v60 coffee, who always sifted my agony by guarantee
 
Baby, you need to know that caffeine needs more
Courage to live his duties, than to kill himself, living his bore
But I'll always remember our memories, glory, fantasy and felicity
A fully moment with thee, a bit of me and a far cry of v60 coffee
 
(2020)
 

Cause I Love You Without Cause

I love you, like I love the flowers in the spring.
I love you, like I love the sunrise in the morning.
I love you, like I love the milk in the mammary gland.
I love you, like I love honey in the honeycomb and their hexagonal saint.
 
And I love you like I love flowers in the winter, summer, autumn or bloom.
And I love you like I love the sunset in the afternoon, also the moon and his doom.
And I love you like I love milk in the holy grail that slowly faded by wine.
And I love you like I love honey, that never expired by the mortality of time and his vine.
 
Cause I love you to the vase, soil, muck and the root.
Cause I love you to the moon and his darkside ruth.
Cause I love you to the milk, grass, cows and the cattleman.
Cause I don't need a cause to fall in love with you, such as becoming a honeybee or being your man.
 
(2020)
 
Myth of Word, Sword, and His Eyes

We sat on the top of our blood and his petals.
I said: 'Have you ever seen a combination of skinny skin, hefty bones, or flesh metal?'
Like rusty anvil and austere hammer at the blacksmith,
You amuse: 'That I fused a muse, paper and pen, word and their shroud to a keen sword without myth.'
 
But I'm not your world, I'm just a word, fuze in your picturesque eyes;
Scribble, wriggle and wiggle in a nasty, naughty, mischievous way.
Praising with a script containing tone, sign, signifier, signified the verses
And set light to your bones, while paying your attention and intention as a curse.
 
And you know what, I want to be buried, in your divine winkers.
Like a lonely philosopher, that endeavour wintry in blister.
So don't doubt the past and future of my freaky fidelity.
Furthermore, never treat my sentences with a touch of sultry, sweaty, and salty blasphemy.
 
But baby, pardon my prickly Langue and Parole,
Cause I've come with: 'A pack of envious haters, their troll and his role,
Jealous menstruational bitches, hypocritical two-faced, disgusting overacting man,
Innocent copy cat thieves, and lots of wordless, speechless, cause I was your swordman.'
 
(2020)
 
Tide of Lithium

Daydreams cold, while the blizzard hit summer pray,
To all the golden sunflower that spring nocturnal ray;
Cause my insomnia turns into dyslexia,
Lead autumn, dreams about nightmare of euthanasia.
 
So, don't let dozy, drowsy become vain;
Sleep but couldn't rest winter tantrum,
That drown our zest, in case farewell verse froze my testament:
That you're cradle of lust, crush, brushed my anxious feelings like lithium
 
Before drizzle floded pillowtalk, slowly sleepwalk, and dream set his sail
Then stare blankly, says: 'could I still see the sunray in cloudy, murky veil?
Could majestic sorrow, borrow a bunch of dreamy clouds, stormy sea, oh heavenly
If your fairy lullaby clear all the grains of sand that are full of misery'
 
I just want to dance, cuddle, kiss your forehead, kill my own madness:
Intoxicated by the crescent moon,
Constelation of stars, gorgeous sky, till wake up, soon.
Oh true ecstasy than goddamn lithium who manipulates my sadness.
 
Cause in the end, I realize, every torn has gone.
Whereas, my desire was born again, I faced the blue throne.
But, will you still be my lullaby?
If all my lithium is already wasted, and hanging in a rope of anxiety?
 
(2020)
 
Starred, Starry-Eyed

We lie on the top of the cosmic and their absurdity.
You said: 'We are stars, star-spangled, at the end of our cynic destiny'
Then I answered: 'To me, we are purely an Astrophile that others can't steal;
As though star signs, star-studded, stand still but irrelevantly real'.
 
The North Star gazing at us, as Phobos and Deimos dancing;
Alas! Where is Mars, did he tingling?
And why the fuck, why didn't Venus have moons?
Ah, did she think that the milky way is too blunt?
 
But baby did we ever notice Nebula?
A mass of dust, gas, and plasma by one colossal supernova!
Remnant; of huge, big fucking bang!
Insouciant; of duende, oh really crank!
 
Ophiuchus blurred, as well as blinded Pluto;
Outcast, out of solar system, in adagio!
While, asteroids are like paradox inside paradox.
Embezzle, merely smash or sucks Earth and the meaning of clocks.
 
Constellation of time, Zenosyne our hours.
Time after time, star-crossed, endless twinkels;
Astride to trepidation, wandering to hollowness banter.
But baby, if they say we are nothing but dust: 'I just want to be your vacuum cleaner.'
 
(2020)

Do You Want to be Born?

The first thing any parent needs to do—on earth—is to apologize to their child. Why? Because they had given birth to him or her without ever asking: "Do you want to be born? Are you sure you want to be born in this bastard world? A world you would hate, even if you were born out of so-called lovemaking—which in the end will always bring out the ironic side of every parent's dream."

(2021)

Sirens to Parent

O c'mon, Mom, Dad. I'm just a kid who is trapped in an adult's body. Seeking for attention, affection, and love in the midst of my head. And I can't pretend that I just need both of you—to comprehend all of this nonsense reality.

On the other hand, I know the world is huge; too huge till it made me so scared. I accept the dare. Outdare the time, to live without regret. Despite sometimes, my will to die is stronger than my will to live. Grieve: like a kid who can't face the void of night.

I know, life is overrated, while death is so underrated. But, I don't wannabe a sinking ship in the ocean of fate. When I try to conquer those endless dread. So please understand that, Mom, Dad.

(2021)

Sextet: Old Dread' Tales

I wandered like a cursed devil
Roaming in the darkness of heaven
When all the angeI died, I saw an owl
End up in the womb of a craven;
Beside the brave, beneath the desire,
Dancing with time, so look at the sky

Its over, o its over my mighty god
The last light slowly goes out
Rip a bones then tears a blood
Forgoten in the midst of crowd
Blinded, no cursed soul allowed
Shallow, let destiny throw a sorrow

The hell is other people
The people just build a border
Even Adam and Eve eat an apple
The sins better faster than never
Lose by fate is immortal death
O lonely soul; hunt for a soulmate

Should I? Tell me, should
I kill myself or kill my rage
Or blissfully with solitude;
Burn every wave or a cage
Alas! O who wants to forgive me?
O mighty god, who wants to hug me?

(2021)

Dissolved

I want to sleep
crawl the owl
slowly, deep.

Then dreamy
a lark: o I feel lonely
in the cold of the dark.

For truth and for shit
I swat a mosquito, offer it
to a clumsy lizard.

A blizzard
under the piled-up snow
now turns into rain.

Night; and once again,
the waves of Kanagawa
can't save our last enigma.

(2021)

Time and Being

Time after time—
Being and time
take sadness
and sorrow
to know
and borrow
a happiness
that is timeless.

(2021)

Let's Dance, My Dear...

In the end, the essence of life is not about celebrating birth or condemning life; but dancing with the anxious corpses, over the graves—our own—which are always in the shadow of the fear of death and vanity.

(2021)

Duck Syndrome

bad luck lark
called duck
seems stuck
in the truck
in a dirt muck
that must suck,
but the duck
has lil luck:
lack of fuck.
...
be like a duck>
doesn't give a fuck<

(2021) 

Genealogy of Married

married
married
married
married
married
mar
ried
mar
ried
mar
ried
mar
ried
mar
ried
<died>
who?
wo
ai
ni
wo
ai
ni
wo(e)
-rried
wo(e)
-rried
wo(e)
-rried
wo(e)
worry
worry-
ing
worri-
some—
worries
wo(e)
-rrier
wo(e)
-rrier
wo(e)
-rrier
wo(e)
-rrier
woe-
fully
woe
-ful
woe
-be-
gone
wow.

(2021)

 

Tell Me Why, Baby...

Baby, why do we go to school? obey the rules. Why do we go to university? handing over our creativity to those rubbish educational hierarchy. Why do we work for twenty, thirty, forty, or maybe fifty years? surrendered our soul to those rigid companies.

Baby, why do we get married? drown ourselves to endless responsibility. Why do we breed a few children? raise them to deal with goddamn reality. Why do we fall down to the same rabbit hole? to repeat the whole ceaselessly of our condemned destiny. Baby, why do we want eternity? if this mortality was so weary.

And why do we want to be born again? worn a torn again, again, and again. And why do we think we have freedom? If freedom words indicate that we never have any freedom. And why do we seek for a meaning? if the meaning has no single meaning.

And why do we still live this meaningless life? strive for essence that always hides and seeks inside our breath. And why do we always deceive ourselves? then dying with the worst of regret. Tell me why baby, why we are so naive, and the death was so underrated. And why can't we be bored to death?

(2021)

Why is Blue So Rare in Nature?

There are no blue tigers. No blue bats, no blue squirrels, blue cats, blue dogs, or blue horses. Even the blue whales aren't that blue. In nature or in the zoo.

Animals come in pretty much every color. But blue seems to be the rarest. So please answer my why or tell me pretty lies?

Whether half of the blue in nature belongs to humans, to poetry, to reality, or to us? If it's true, we need to trust that it is the saddest truth in nature study—who always comes so absurdly, so out of the blue in the deepest phrase of suddenly.

(2021)

Le Mythe de l'abysse

It's foolish to say that existential crisis has more crises than climate crisis. So we look outside to find the root of the crisis. But deeply we feel the crisis is inside—of ourselves. Sounds crappy. Because we don't know what the heck we miss. We stare into the abyss.

Time flies so fast as fast we are happy then bite the dust. Hence, resistance is a must. Honey, let's gaze at the sky. Thus the darkest the night, the brighter the stars. Look, chaotically—tells us that the core of reality is the most chaotic of chaos.

Now we know one thing, something that hurts us—being able to kill us. And something that kills—makes us invincible. Like a second spring who brings endless lust.

It's brutally true when they say we were lost; long before we were born. But we aren't born and are grown to drown. It doesn't mean we need to say—that life has no intrinsic meaning, so what's the point of living?

Yes, we were born to postpone the biggest loss. It's truly yes that life has no intrinsic meaning, that's why the point is just living. Feel the vibes—or suck the merely of life—before we lose for the nothingness of nothing.

(2021) 

TXT MSG from Your Existentialist

Studying philosophy is a poetic way to find meaning—or lose the meaning. Sounds like the art of thinking. Technically, a war cry to goddamn overthinking. Cynically—a quarrel with what, who, when, why, where, & how. Now and endlessly.

To be the eternal pupil of a question. To take action and responsibility. To picture a civilization. To fulfill our deepest nature. To conquer maturity. To live with aesthetic and ethic. To be a human who humanizes other humans. To use our potency as the most intelligent being—in the continuum illness of space & time.

To learn how to die—without the worst of remorse. To accept fate: that the only things we know are nothing. And to love the unpleasant truth—that the more we know, the sorrow we get. Even in the end; it doesn't really matter at all.

(2021)

A Lesson in the Alphabet

>abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
zyxwvutsrqponmlkjihgfedcba<
>qwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnm
mnbvcxzlkjhgfdsapoiuytrewq<
...
did i miss something?
i think i don't miss anything.
...
o i miss you, but
that is impromptu.
...
& unplanned.

(2021)

Lose One's Nerves

when i lose my mind,
i lose nothing.
when i lose my soul,
i lose something.
when i lose you—
what the hell am i doing?
i fuckin' lose everything.

o please, i can fuck losing
everything but not you—o
not you. alas! i can't lose you.

(2021)

Twas Always Thus & Always Thus will Be

twas true love only hails from the mess of you. like messing up your unawareness—thus now you are aware that fake love mostly hails from the best of you; whereas, all the time you try to be the best to find out where true love hails from.

but what if the point of love affair, maybe hails from the middle of nowhere—an awareness and formulation which will always be unawares & formless?

(2021)

Love is Love

it doesn't matter whether race disconnected us, religion separates us, politics divides us, language bordered us, or wealth obstructs us.

at the end of the day—love only says it's evening and i love you without any reason; because love can't be imprisoned in a man-made conception.

(2021)

Odes to u(rsa maryana royani)

i said i love artworks by michaelangelo, botticelli, leonardo, kandinsky, picasso, & dalí. but, if we were in an art gallery, i'd love to waste my time staring at u. & stand still staring at u—its u, o u, only u, its me, o me—i'm going nuts, o frankly; u are the pureblood work of art.

(2021)

Perhaps

perhaps, there is always a reason behind all madness; except in the homesickness and love of a man who's already been mad for a woman.

perhaps that's why there is no stronger creature than a woman; for there is nothing more mad and frail than a man who is under spell by a woman.

perhaps that's why madman only refers to a man. perhaps that's why i'm still a madman who is under your spell. perhaps that's why there is no other love, it's only you; never sound too insane.

(2021)

My Dear, How Long is Longing?

sure, nobody can precisely measure how long is forever. never. some people may say, forever is forevermore. furthermore, and more. evermore. more and more.

the others say, sometimes, forever may be just one second. brief like a temporary grief, like a seasonal fever, like the bright of the sunrise, as the moon at darkest night, or such as love at first sight.

how long is forever? in reality, it doesn't even matter, ever since one realizes that everyone is silent when being asked: how long is longing?

one must dare to ask and answer how long is longing. because no one knows how ugly the unforeseen sorrow when somebody suddenly says:

"someday in someplace, somehow, someone will try to stance then say something bad about the distance-time between first hi & the last goodbye."

(2021)

Forthright

If you tell me to write a book about why I love you, then it's about 1002 pages with 1000 blank pages.

Opened with a foreword saying that I don't know why, somehow, the goddamn language had managed to escape from my head. Ended with a bibliography of honesty about how I will never be able to write a book like this—unable.

But I will gather the feeble of all my courage together to say: "I'm sorry"—thence kiss upon your brow. Whereupon stare blankly at those magical eyes.

(2021)

If What I Wrote in Life Echoes an Eternity

Once upon a time, or once in a while—you will finally try to read my poetry. Then find it's not too lengthy. Because it has 3 things only: how cold the world of this shitty-reality; the brainless of the language when expressing your beauty; & me who hide the sins of our futility underneath my insanity.

(2021)

How Can?

You are beautiful. Unfortunately, I'm in the writer's block. But you are still beautiful. A flock of clock locks on the wistful. But you are still beautiful. The rhyme looks confused until confusedly confuse by confusion. But you are still beautiful.

I soberly sobered up from a sobering hangover. But you are still beautiful. Our head had a rough night to right off through. But you are still beautiful too.

I'm done with writer's blocks when I finish this ugly poetry. But what I found is the world whichsoever beautifies their nasty & you who beautifully never finishes your beauty.

(2021)

What is Beauty?

<thesis>
Beauty is when we try to express on tone in music, it fabulously becomes melodious. When we attempt to describe it in words, it poetically becomes poetic. When we try to paint that in painting or art, it marvellously becomes artsy.

<antithesis>
Beauty is when we visualize what beauty is; afterwards suddenly we clearly see the invisible—those in the midst of ugliness lay invincible loveliness. Or maybe beauty is soundless, languageless, formless, & unspokenly.

<synthesis>
Beauty is when we close our eyes & feel our lips crash; that causes all of conception about what beauty is—crush instantaneously.

(2021)

Portmanteau > Intertext of Cigarettes After Sex

<web + log> = blog
<chill + relax> = chillax
<electronic + mail> = email
<friend + enemy> = frenemy
<man + explain> = mansplain
<mock + cocktail> = mocktail
<emotion + icon> = emoticon
<stay + vacation> = staycation
<drama + comedy> = dramedy
<costume + roleplay> = cosplay
<your lips + my lips> = apocalypse

(2021)

Life is a Tragicomedy

What if we're just a tragedian who is caught in the heart of space-time—or between the illusion of heaven & hell—that is tragically becoming tragical, gradually feels tragic; because we never know the hidden mystery of tragedies—inside every tragedy—before we finally die & mysteriously realize ... we're god's failure to create a funniest comedy.

(2021)

No Fucking Way

There are only two ways to cope with a broken heart. Reject it and commit suicide; or accepting it, then became a poet who wrote tragedies on endless destiny—for life, o life! entire life!

(2021)

& So on, Life Must Goes on

Astronomers say there are 100 billion to 200 billion galaxies in the universe. For more than 3 trillion planets on each galaxies. Revolve among a vast bizarre-universe.

& we're still vibing—on this tiny blue planet covered by seas. Drowning our ignorance, within hope inside enigmatic-sacred verse. & we struggle to death—to fill the void that we can't even see. Sown our own dread: buried by all of nonsense—vanity.

& we can't run, we can't hide either. & the bad news is, in the end it doesn't really matter at all. & the good news is, in the end, it doesn't really matter at all. & I'll be your Sisyphus; thus you could be my absurdity—who says: "fuck 'em all!"

(2022)

Rhyme at 2 AM

I was skeptical—
before the big bang,
god filled the human heart
with void ...

poetically
sounds pathetic, huh?
thus, after all of this shit—
o goddammit,
one must dare to live,
not try to avoid it;

albeit they had
more courage
to take one’s life,
than to resist the voidable
—from being born
& get torn by forlorn.

(2022)

Slaves of Certainty

frankly, human consciousness
is a heavy burden.
that's why some of us—
consciously, choose uncosciousness
& be a junkie: religion, philosophy,
ideology, political party,
or other shit to retreat
from the bitterness of reality—
such a coward, who can't live forward
to shone the darkside of time—
in the face of presently.

: o life! are humans
the closest metaphor
for the most pathetic slaves
of certainty—on the dead planet
who enclose uncertainty?

(2021)

Gravestone Reverie

one must live to life. to strive. to defy that existence precedes essence—isn't a human first problem. in spite of being in vain. to paint the pain. one must redeem the condemned. come after godot in Beckett's head. despite—if the cost while struggling was loss of meaning, & disconsolate. while too late to solace those goddamn gods;

perhaps, first human problem—feel endless agony on the death bed—without knowing what the fuck is going on & when being buried.

(2021)

Thought of the Night

"what comes first,
essence or existence?"

an endless howl of abyss
on humans heart—who can't
create the meaning
of his meaningless life.

(2022)

On Success

success was the lump of nickel I saw sinking at the bottom of the clear gutter—reflecting the light of the late afternoon sun. it represents nothing at all, except as a sign of something that has long been revered, worshiped, but had been lost, drowned, and forgotten.

in relation to the object as a work of art, the nickel lump has been transformed in such a way with carvings, into currency: a hot object that regulates the exchange of value in the eyes of modern society—& divinity.

(2021)

Omnipotence Paradox

if god is almighty,
can he/she create a
stone that can make
sisyphus happy?

(2022)

Wanderer Above the Sea of Hope

decease
of
the
author
is
the
cause
of
the
more
nativity
of
their
reader.

(2021)

What's the Saddest Words in the English Language?

"believed"

I once believed I was getting older, wiser enough to tell my father & mother: "I had childish half-naive thoughts. sometimes believed there were shortcuts on every impasse road. often believed that all the suffering had a meaning. usually believed there was always a happy ending."

I knock the desolate sky—ask—talk to God but he/she is never too late to distract myself: with pleasure, with unsatisfactory answer, with theatrical melody, with lullaby, with the melodramatic language of poetry—on scripture whose lost their raptures.

believed. I believed: life is a multiple garbage truck accident—in the body of a human—who had motion sickness. & time is madness. I believed, there was no one from nowhere—came down through the chimney—while I sail the dreams; then mystically paying my tax, paying my bill, paying the price of human existence that lost their essence.

believed. I believe there is always a nonsensical will to believe. & that makes me stay alive. & makes me reverie in every sight, every night, all night.

I believed ... nothing ... to believe ... was ... tangible ... grief.

(2022)

What Part of an Absurdist Morning Routine Takes the Longest?

deciding:
to kill
himself
or make
a cup
of coffee.

(2022)

On Table

a bunch of dumbass who occupied this table—I could guess had just left—dirty surface on the hefty table—like a bouncer, covered with the remaining glasses & splattered water. I told the waiter to wipe the table, then said: "in this city—this goddamn city—many men are willing to be tipsy, to drain their time & money—just to steal the attention of nightfly—who gather in these kinds of places; that could reasonably be the melting points of urbanites."

those dumbass are trying their luck. hoping to make the women's things 'wet'. regrettably, all they always do is wet the table, wet the pack of cigarettes—that I put on this table, wet the beer coasters, wet their despondency—but couldn't wet the entire evidence of how pathetic & lonely they were. so fuckin' silly.

(2022)

Time when Time Hits Different

: how flimsy the boundary
between space & time

first day school / first day college / first day work / gazing the stars / swim whilst rain / walking alone / in the woodland / in the quiet city / in the mortuary / on empty streets / absently at art-gallery / walk into the museum / muse on mausoleum / discern the sunrise / set eyes on sunset / catch sight of firework / finish up lenghty book / the day before birthday / wake up after get tattoo / attend the lively concert / listening to melodious songs or desolate melody / watching masterpiece movie / it's raining outside / go on night-riding / it's dark outside / but the desire to beyond space-time is too dazzling /

(2022)

To Win,
We Have to
Think Outside the Box
⇡
⌈ x | o | x ⌉
| o │x│x |
⌊ o | x | o ⌋

 

: but couldn't change the fact—

that mindset & knowledge is a power

which makes their master feels suffer.

(2022)

Three Things Cannot Be Long Hidden:

the sun, the moon, & some kind of antiquity yearning which slowly murdering me—that unfortunately can't be domesticated—o untamed desire to hug you. right off, right now—to assist me avoid a void who breeds bewilderment beneath my angsts—right off, right now ... o we are so far, yet so close. bound me, crucifix me inside your left lateral or in the midst of your maternal soul—right off, right now. fold the space, bend the time. o hug me, come to me. crawling, shuffling, rolling, walking, running, teleporting, moving, howsoever—at speed of light or speed of sound—no matter how. right off, right now. o baby, hug me.

(2022)

I'll be ∴ u ∵ I.F.L.Y

Doctor Strange: "I love u in every universe."

Modal Realism: "I love u in every possible world."

Me + Furor Poeticus: "I love u in every universe, in every alphabeth of my verses—in every possibility of gravitational singularity-spacetime singularity: a condition in which my gravity to u is so intense that spacetime itself breaks down catastrophically inside my poetry.

(2022)

The Myth of Phoenix

I
in the stomach of time
clock tickling, clock ringing
arouse Phoenix from
his ashes form
as if bringing tidings
on the rustling hourglass
ask for the wind-ask for the past
age of stone turns to copper
in the hall of spiteful sun city
which may unceasingly
spell reincarnation metaphors
& our futility.

II
500 years, Phoenix
learned nothing except to
end the angst of the flames
squirm then ask for eternality
right in the heart of earth's mortality

o immortality spells
desperately sought, since ancient times
Prometheus steals fire of knowledge
of the gods-goddess on the edge
of Olymphus ascendancy;

Phoenix, fully fell sorrowfully.

III
Phoenix dies many times, reborn
—was gutted, & scattered
such as speck blown away by typhoon;

& for his death
the umpteenth time, now,
the tongue of fire is trying to
spawn the seeds of language
without a shred of incredulity:
"This evil world, it turns out
more hellish than hell itself.
o when the karmachain was at
death’s door, he wrapped his body
on his face—& built a nest
of wood, then burned it,
let it dissipate until to dust,
& from above the tomb,
Phoenix was born in a new form.
& everything repeats themselves
—would be like that perpetuity."

: o camus, o sisyphus
if every leaf was a flower
—isn't autumn nothing
but the second spring?

IV
"god, why were my reflect designed
like a heavy mace for a flimsy mirror?"
—murmured Phoenix, who was too
tired to live eternally, such as agony.

(2022)

Let's Play Melancholic Music before Minor Tones from Danzig Knock Our Door

"man is a conscious & intelligent being—they can survive whatever it takes, sacrifice, & endure all the anguish as long as it has a meaning."

but what if the meaning of life is: to see life without eyes—but by means of melancholic music; to hear life without ear—but by means of melancholic music; to smell life without nose—but by means of melancholic music; to savour life without tongue—but by means of melancholic music; to feel life without skin—but by means of melancholic music.

but what if the meaning of life is just to keep alive—thus we can play melancholic music? thus we can dancing—by means of melancholic music; thus we can stop seeking about meaning; thus we can console the endless cycle of joy & sorrow; thus we can forget how grieve the death—how brief life was ... thus we can ... postponed anything, escape time, & just vibing.

: without melancholic music, life inevitably be a sins & the remnant just constant suffering.

(2022)

Love is A Brightly Colored Poisonous Dart Frog that We Immediately Perceive as Dangerous once We Touch It

yes, it looks interesting, cute, & adorable ... but it has enough chemical compounds—to change ten million color spectrums, so it's only pale blue like western philosophy ... then disrupts the lacrimal system in the eye to transform the grammar of tears into tear;

it was able to kill ten thousand innocent men, then turn them into language-composing machines that fabricated tens of billions of myths, creeds, & odes about how love affairs turn spring into a second fall, turn major notes into minor notes, turn realism into surrealism, turning thoughts & feelings into the center of the archives busiest all night long;

just by touching it—just by touching that damned creature … love is a brightly colored poisonous dart frog that we immediately perceive as dangerous once we touch it.

(2022)

Odes to Søren Kierkegaard

I
the most painful state of being is meeting the right person at the wrong time, then realizing you are the wrong person—& the time is still ticking.

II
loving someone, & we will regret it. not loving someone, we will regret it. loving someone or not loving someone, somehow we will regret it either way. regretting something is an inevitable state.

III
to stay alive is all about cynic to the naive things—who said by one foolish that is too optimistic. but loving life is an endless war of how to kill regret, which unfortunately can't be dead.

IV
we can stab our arteries
to divert all of the misery &
try to forget—but we can't run
from the inescapable of regret.

(2022)

امور فاطی

how lovely it means
if we can imagine,
be friends, & love sadness
with sincerity, with madness,
with bravery—till it burns
our left chest, crumbles our bones, excorticates our skin, & tears out
our last flesh—even if ... even if ...
we consciously lean our bodies
& realize ... that life is still a mess.

(2022)

On Absurdism

sometimes

we

forget

to

appreciate

the

little things

that
make

life

worth living.

(2022)

*****

Read More

Puisi: Mengheningkan Cipta untuk Cita-cita

setiap setahun sekali,

bendera-bendera dikibarkan,

hiasan-hiasan digantung

sepanjang jalan,

permainan-permainan

dilombakan, &

merdeka-merdeka

pun diteriakkan, lalu usai,

& setiap senin sampai

jumat, kita akan bertemu

kembali di jalanan, sembari

mengeluh, marah, & memaki,

persetan dengan merdeka,

aku harus secepatnya sampai

di tempat kerja, duduk &

menerima perintah seharian,

hingga senja menjelang

& kita bertarung lagi

di jalanan, berebut menuju

pulang agar bisa sejenak istirahat

mengumpulkan tenaga untuk

mengeluh, marah & memaki

lagi di jalanan esok hari,

kemerdekaan telah usai, & mati,

hadap kanan hadap kiri,

balik kanan balik kiri,

kepada upah

di setiap awal & akhir bulan,

hormat gerak.

& teruntuk setiap mimpi & cita-cita

masa kecil yang tergantung tinggi

di angkasa, marilah kita

mengheningkan cipta:

'Mengheningkan cipta untuk cita-cita,

mulai.'

(2021)

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Puisi: Jika Hidup adalah Tanda Baca; maka Kehidupan adalah Tanda Tanya Tanpa Titik—yang Lumayan Seru, tetapi Penuh Koma

terkadang aku membayangkan jika dilahirkan sebagai kuda liar di padang sabana; hanya berlari-lari, bebas, ke sana-ke mari & meringkik hihi-hihi. tak perlu sekolah, tak perlu bekerja, tak perlu menikah, tak perlu bertanya-tanya apakah ada kehidupan setelah kematian, tak perlu memikirkan: apakah kompleks Piramida Giza adalah ulah alien yang iseng ataukah sebuah bukti dari betapa jeniusnya nenek moyang umat manusia?

aku tak perlu meresapi betapa gabutnya Adam & Hawa ketika masih di taman surga. tak perlu merenungi betapa tersiksanya setan yang selalu dikambinghitamkan atas semua kejahatan. tak perlu berempati pada hewan yang kalah binatang ketimbang manusia. tak perlu memerhatikan manusia-manusia lain yang dewasa ini ditelan kanal-kanal media sosial. tak perlu menertawai betapa bloonnya orang-orang di Eropa sana sebelum Renaissance.
 
atau betapa susahnya Neanderthal membuat percikan api dari batu sekitar 50.000 tahun lalu. atau serumit apa metode komunikasi dari satuan bahasa sebelum adanya Lingua Franca. atau sesederhana apa bahasa yang digunakan di Menara Babel yang melegenda. atau kodifikasi macam apa yang mengikat penyair dalam semacam kredo Lisensi Puitika. atau betapa pentingnya lukisan bunga matahari yang dilukis van Gogh pada tahun 1887 bagi tradisi ilmu seni rupa.
 
atau betapa kesepiannya Darwin ketika 35 hari meneliti teori seleksi alam di Kepulauan Galapagos. atau betapa bingungnya Einstein menjelaskan Relativitas Waktu pada manusia yang tak pernah tepat datang tepat waktu. atau memantik mata kuliah semantik di kepala anak TK. atau betapa bersalahnya senyawa kimia arsenik ketika dipakai untuk membunuh seorang aktivis hak asasi manusia di atas udara. atau bagaimana rasanya meminum kopi campur sianida saat asam lambung sudah di depan mata.

betapa aku tak perlu memikirkan mengapa Hemingway bunuh diri sekitar 3 minggu sebelum ulang tahunnya yang ke-62. atau mengapa orang-orang keren bunuh diri di umur 27 tahun. atau mengapa orang-orang naif selalu berumur panjang, sepanjang pertanyaanku, tentang mengapa kurikulum sejarah kita memfitnah bahwa Daendels tak membayar upah para pekerjanya dalam proyek jalan raya pos dari Anyer sampai Panarukan sepanjang 1.000 kilometer jauhnya.

o betapa aku tak perlu mengingat betapa gobloknya Mao yang menyuruh warganya untuk membunuh sekitar 600 juta ekor burung gereja. atau betapa kacaunya Wabah Pes di Pulau Jawa. atau betapa mengerikannya bencana nuklir di Chernobyl, Ukraina. atau betapa rusuhnya peristiwa Tanjung Priok. atau pecahnya perang saudara di Amerika Serikat. atau mengingat-ngingat betapa berdarahnya Perang Salib atas nama agama. atau mengenang betapa jayanya Filsafat di kota Athena yang selalu tampak dungu di kepala orang-orang Sparta.

atau menafsir gelapnya kosmologi dari buku-buku yang berat itu. atau mengungkap siapa orang tolol di balik patung-patung Moai. atau ada apa di Area 51. atau mengapa Silicon Valley mengawali kedigdayaan AI. atau mengapa industri fesyen melaju dengan sangat cepat. atau mengapa skena musik indie bersinonim dengan senja, kopi, & puisi. atau mengapa pesatnya teknologi membuka lubang-lubang kelinci baru bernama depresi. atau mengapa pada akhirnya utopia berganti baju menjadi distopia.

atau mengapa orang-orang berjudi di Miraza. mengapa di Bogor hujan terjadi hampir setiap hari. mengapa di Afrika, panas & kelaparan adalah makanan sehari-hari. mengapa di Jalur Gaza, misil, rudal, & batu adalah kunci. mengapa di India, Kasta Dalit lebih rendah dari sampah. mengapa di Catalunya, kemerdekaan sama dengan halusinasi. mengapa di Selandia Baru, suku Māori menandai kepunahan Burung Moa. mengapa di Australia, umat manusia kalah perang dengan Burung Emu. mengapa di Kalimantan, Orang Utan kalah telak dari Orang Tambang.

atau menimbang-nimbang kemungkinan jika aku tak dilahirkan di tahun 2000. atau tak pernah dilahirkan sama sekali. atau mencari diriku sendiri yang sudah hilang bersama pandemi jahanam ini. atau mencari cara agar aku bisa secepatnya moksa, memutus rantai-karma, & meludahi semua omong kosong di atas simulasi samsara ini. atau pasrah dengan mengucap Lahaula Walakuata. atau Sabbe Sattā Bhavantu Sukhitattā. atau merapal mantra andalan seperti Amorfati; ya sudahlah mau bagaimana lagi.

o betapa aku ingin sekali berkata bahwa hidup berjalan seperti menaiki bianglala di pasar malam yang sudah tutup. & betapa aku ingin menggugat Tuhan: ya Tuhanku, jika hidup adalah adalah tanda baca; maka aku adalah tanda tanya yang tak akan pernah bosan menodong-Mu dengan miliaran pertanyaan—yang selalu berkembang biak dalam bekunya setiap jawaban dari-Mu

***

(ceritanya ganti adegan & tata bahasa)

mula-mula Thales berkata: semua berasal dari air & akan kembali ke air. diikuti dengan Anaximander yang berkata: semua berasal dari Apeiron, semacam sesuatu yang tak diketahui itu adalah apa. Hmmm seperti itu, begitu ujarku. lalu, Anaximenes berkata: semua berasal dari udara. tapi masa iya? begitu ucapmu. entahlah sayang, hanya Aang, Appa, Avatar Roku, & tukang kipas angin yang tahu.

tak mau kalah, Heraclitus berkata: semua berasal dari api. terdengar seperti doktrin-dogma Agama Majusi, begitu katamu sembari menatap tajam mata Freddie yang sedang menyanyikan lagu—tentang Galilei berjudul Bohemian Rhapsody. maka berbicaralah Zarathustra: aku hanya percaya pada Tuhan yang tahu caranya menari. Si Dinamit tersenyum, kemudian melakukan tarian sufi bersama Rumi sampai mati.

sedang Parmenides hanya berkata: realitas adalah lingkaran sempurna yang tak bergerak, terbagi, & berubah, singkatnya monoton. ya begitulah, sama, stagnan, & tanpa kemungkinan untuk mengembang. tapi sayangku, adakah seseorang yang menaruh rasa peduli pada perasaan Isaac Newton yang mengganti namanya menjadi Isaac Tangis—setelah kerangka statis alam semesta buatannya, dihantam Planck bersama kenyataan bahwa alam semesta memang terus mengembang.

tapi alam semesta memang mengembang, sayang. seperti roti yang diberi baking powder. & Einstein memenangkan tender ilmu pengetahuan. & Fisika Klasik berganti baju menjadi Mekanika Kuantum. persis seperti dosis obat lithium karbonat yang sengaja kuganti dengan mencium keningmu setelah melalui hari-hari yang bangsat, rindu-rindu keparat, makna-makna hidup tanpa alamat, & mood-swing yang laknat. lupakan, mari kita berpindah ruang-waktu.

pagi itu, kita melihat abad-abad Pencerahan di Eropa ditandai dengan Descartes yang berujar: Cogito Ergo Sum; aku berpikir, maka aku ada. di sore hari kita melihat Camus dengan gebrakannya: Je Me Rebelle Donc J’existe; aku berontak, maka kita ada. ketika malam tiba, kita menyaksikan masyarakat konsumer di zaman kontem-pler berseru: aku belanja, maka aku ada. esoknya kita terbangun oleh suara-suara bising digitalisasi: Selfito Ergo Sum; aku selfie, maka aku ada. & langsung panik mendengar sangkakala alterasi-budaya: Covido Ergo Zoom; aku covid, maka aku zoom.

apa itu ada? sedang Siti Jenar berkata: ada adalah tiada & kekosongan ini bernyawa. apa itu ada? kata Hegel di The Phenomenology of Spirit yang tak pernah selesai kubaca. apakah ada itu tak ada maknanya? serupa mencari rasio emas di zaman perunggu. pencarian ini takkan merubah kenyataan bahwa kita “Too Poor for Pop Culture” seperti yang pernah dituliskan D. Watkins & digaungkan kembali oleh F. Stevy.

tanyakan saja pada seekor kucing yang diletakkan di sebuah kotak tertutup bersama sebuah botol berisi racun sianida. pertanyaannya, apakah kucing itu masih hidup? nyatanya Schrödinger muak dengan semua omong kosong ini, lalu menelurkan bahasa:

                    G                               G
                      G                           G
                         G                     G
                            G               G
                               G         G
                                  G   G
                                     G
                                     G
                                     G
                                     G
                                     G
                                     G
                                     G

(2021)

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Puisi: Bumi Manusia Tanpa Nama

Malam itu, di kos-kosan, kau melihatku mengunyah kosakata merdeka yang belum matang secara paripurna. Lagi & lagi, tentu dengan gigi curian yang kudapat dari bahasa Sanskerta. “Merdeka itu apa?” begitu katamu dengan nada manja. Terdengar arkais sekaligus manis. “Hmmm apa ya? Mungkin semacam hasrat terpendam dari makhluk berkaki dua tak berbulu yang sering disebut manusia, gairah terdalam setiap hamba, warga negara, budak korporat, sampai masyarakat adat di desa. Maknanya serupa rasa surga di dunia—mungkin juga hanya sekadar utopia: ketidakmungkinan yang diberi alamat kemungkinan oleh kita, manusia, dalam kalimat-kalimat mungkin saja.”

Kau menerawang tanda tanya seraya dikoyak-koyak tata bahasaku. Tapi dengar, dengarlah sayang, dunia biadab ini sepertinya mengidap disabilitas diksi dengan tanda-tanda tuna-rima. Tak semua rasa memiliki bahasa. Tak semua resah memiliki istilah. Hipotesis yang ironis, cenderung fatalis, memang. & terkadang, omong kosong ini berlanjut dengan realitas—yang tiba-tiba menendang esensi merdeka keluar dari jendela pembatas. Lalu kita, harus memberi nafas buatan kepada eksistensi merdeka. Kemudian, berjalan di atas pecahan kaca yang terbuat dari mayat kegagalan dengan sentuhan pesimis yang sudah optimis. Aku ingat, rasanya begitu nendang seperti dihantam Ciu Bekonang, & keras sekali seperti Arak Bali.

Setelah berkontemplasi tiada henti, kau mengajakku untuk menyelami makna agrikultura. Malam kian tenggelam, & sisanya kau habiskan untuk menjambak rambutku. Sontak, Tuhan kabur malam itu. Semasih kau menyebut-nyebut nama-Nya. Bergantian dengan erangan ‘oh ya, oh tidak’. Tidak, gendang telingaku tak kuat menahan lelucon ketika kau melabeli lidahku sebagai Daendels gaya baru. Sungguh, aku tak berminat menjajah tubuhmu dengan roman-roman Cultuurstelsel. Kau meraih ransel di tepi bantal dengan tanganmu. Lihat, tak ada Patriarki dalam sorot mataku. Lantas kau membuka obat tetes mata lalu meneteskannya. Tak ada Misogini pada kedua tanganku. Aku bukan orang yang sadis & kau bahkan bukan masokis.

Namun dari arah bangsal, di samping kos-kosan. Tepatnya dari ketiak jendela, kita melihat para pejabat yang sibuk menyembunyikan bangkai seorang pahlawan. Ah sial, ingin rasanya kubakar dunia ini dengan hipokrisi pemerintah yang tiada habisnya. Persetan dengan itu. Nyatanya, dari pangkal paha sampai pangkal bahumu, tak kutemukan jalan dari Anyer sampai Panarukan. Hanya ketemukan bekas penjajahan di bibirmu. Tapi sejarah selalu ditulis oleh seorang pendusta, sayang. Tak ada bukti kerja paksa di Nusantara, yang ada hanya budaya korupsi. Kompeni tak seburuk yang kita duga. Sejarah negara ini tak sebaik yang kita kira. & bercocok tanam bukan melulu perihal melepaskan seluruh lelah yang masih tersisa.

Papua tak sekadar Isla de Oro alias pulau emas. Seperti yang diungkapkan seorang pimpinan armada laut Spanyol: Alvaro de Saavedra. Tak semudah fitnah yang ditujukan kepada Tan Malaka. Tak sesederhana membaca buku Madilog tanpa dialektika. Komunis tak se-autis yang mereka pikir, percayalah, orang-orang pandir itu bahkan tak bisa membedakan antara Ateisme & Animisme. Antara bacot patriot & miskin logika. Otak mereka terlalu daif, naif, & sakit untuk berpikir secara sehat. Semaun tertawa mendengar ini. Soeharto-lol hengkang dari prosa ini. Bersama ratusan ribu bahkan jutaan nyawa rakyat yang diduga anggota, dicurigai mengikuti partai terlarang, hingga yang tak berdosa pun mati & hilang entah ke mana.

Sejarah tak pernah selesai hanya dengan disimpan, diterka, & ditelusuri. Ia abadi dalam ingatan manusia, dalam benak kita yang bahkan sudah selesai lalu-lalang di lorong waktu. Memaknai sejarah, tak segampang menelan obat antidepresan ketika depresi mengacak-acak ruang pikiran. Mencari merdeka di dalam negara—juga tak semudah mencari De Facto & De Jure, lalu berteriak: “Hore!”. Ada harapan yang menunggu dikonversi menjadi kenyataan. Ada darah yang masih kental di tengah-tengah pertanyaan. Ada air mata yang larut di atas jenazah ruang & waktu. Ada garuda, & kabar buruknya, ia terpenjara dalam sangkar yang sedang terbakar. Aku memintamu, melupakan sejarah beserta bualan yang mengikutinya. 

Aku jengah. Dalam suasana yang masih gundah, dengan terbata-bata kau bertanya di mana merdeka? Entahlah, aku tak tahu di mana ia berada. Namun bagaimana jika kemerdekaan memang tak pernah ada atau sudah mati? & jika bibirmu masih saja memaksakan untuk mengeja merdeka, bolehkah aku melenyapkan bekas-bekas penjajahan bibirnya di bibirmu—lalu menyusun berkas-berkas kemerdekaan yang baru dengan bibirku sebagai proklamatornya?

(2021)

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