By Dina Oktaviani
1
what is it now that makes you tremble
night is just something that often passes by
what is it that you don’t know about pain;
spiteful lovers, friends that vanish in space
you’re the one who never finishes anything
because everything is torn apart in your head
what is it that makes you irresolute in the presence of the past
regret is a strong beast
with its claws walking under the skin
and makes you hurt
now, suffer the scratch
suffer the vague scratch in your blood
hatred for father and jealousy for mother
odd-feeling amongst your brothers and sisters
houses that burn the despair
the lamps have faded, love
let me end the night
by writing down these lines
and embark your corpse into dream
2
how am i going to miss you after this
living amongst ghosts and hometown
there’s nothing i could leave behind:
the light you turn off
the sound of your belly in the morning
or my own despair
when i leave home secretly
and realize: there’s no one after me
but the breeze, beside the rain spots
that last in my head for quite sometime
i always wanted to get back from the junction
and to cry endlessly at ease
i want to hit you hard
because patience never explains anything
now that i might love another
would you love me again
love me amongst your awkwardness
and love me amongst the shadows
that you might not be able to bring to life anymore
3
the faint death close to my neck
who really knows you
you’re always closed-eyes
the books inside your body, full of notes
i could never read
names, lies
i just don’t want to hurt anybody
not even myself, with your sadness, your fear
and my fear of sadness
i’ve quit praying
and i can’t possess you suddenly:
drizzle in the morning; your broken-heart
how your belongings will let you down
i count on the cooled-heart and the weather
i survive by sleeping and loving the vague
and i can’t lose you suddenly:
your slow love; the verses
that make me recollect every god
4
how much can i take
from tanjungkarang drizzle
which building talks about myself
which road leads to the house of past
i can’t find my grave in every hallway
my mind becomes a ghost, can’t return anywhere
the air is my holy son
that i inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale
from the distance he’s now carrying his mother’s sins on his shoulders;
polluted by grief and bringing me back to life again
to be dying again
if only i were a son
if only i were just beloved
see, how much that has been taken away from me
i can’t even possess my own tears
that fall swiftly and get the whole city drowned
5
i could cry to my heart’s content
or i could knock on my friends’ door and tell them
how the night has tortured me along this journey
or how this journey has tortured me all night long
i could smoke all the kreteks that you’ve got
and order cups of coffee
to stare at until cold
my son could cry
and i could take him along
through every horror inside my head
i could consume all amoxicylins
i have kept in my drawers for many years
or i could challenge the nightmares in my sleep
i could make the fog doors take me
home to tanjungkarang, to the mornings
where no one cares about my yearning
for the future
where everybody loves me
and gives me a fright
what i have been looking for is here and nowhere else
but how i could lose it
how i want it without knowing what for
how i love it without knowing how to love
how i always love something i can not understand
6
i heard your voice once
long before we met and never saw each other again
spaces have been frozen by the distance; my heart’s filled
with fake questions about the world
tonight the echo of the voice
paralyzes the bad thoughts about the fallen leaves;
making me lame and longing for home
where am i
apart from vanishing in unsuccessful fiction
about families; where are you?
how could someone understand the sadness
that he is not familiar with?
every man is a messiah for himself:
there’s no way out
7
you wake me up early in the morning
with your real and definite hands—
no longer i have that habit
come under my blanket when the dawn’s breaking
and be my dream while i’m asleep
the worse the better: i’ll be living with no surprises
“mama is crazy now; better not to see again
and besides she’s beautiful and hurt – she’s perfect
i’m walking out: that’s a habit”
so i take a walk in a winter suit
looking for some flaws to note down
rain is just drizzle; i can only remember numbers
nobody’s named number
only the drizzle; i walk like a calendar
it is neither ex-lovers nor old friends:
the whole city has become remnants