You

Not quite a shadow

- that dark, wispy presence

that, as you turn, disappears

Nor that deep hum

- of a tune you can't recall

that, as you remembers, silents

But a glaring light,

- that glimmers ever so brightly

through the corneas of your eyes

to blind you from the darkness. 

I Am the Ocean

I am the ocean
and you contain me
my high and low tides
in all the depth of the sea

I am the ocean
and you carry me
to greet the sandy shore
for a taste of my salinity

I am the ocean
and you are my gravity
in all my velocity, and
my immense capacity

I am the ocean
as you very well know me
I don't sink nor I float
- I only be

I am the ocean
to every degree
and you willingly sustain
through apogee and perigee

repeat repeat

From here.

A repetition that is not a routine, but a reminder that reoccurs in my conscience and my dreams. Almost like a heartbeat. Or the rippling sound of waves. Or the glimpses of smiles that cameo in my mind.

On "night"

by John Edgar Wideman

"..Night changes things. You can't see exactly how, but you can feel it in your bones. Spaces open up, which haven't been there before. You know that nights different, and you guess at why, and you wonder why, but you understand that you'll never understand, because the night is about things changing. The other fact about night, is the fact that it doesn't last, it's temporary. And like all good things it must come to an end.."



p/s: one of my favorite poetry slams, Def Poetry (or Def Jam Poetry founded by Russell Simmons et. al.), once showed Mos Def (the host) quoted Wideman's take on nights. Click here to watch.

bohong

oleh Mosyuki Borhan

bohongi aku tentang kau yang sudah berpunya
bohongi aku tentang kau yang sedang menukangi cinta dengan
kekasih lama
bohongi aku tentang senyummu serta bicara-bicara kita yang
cuma pura-pura

aku akan percaya semua bohong-bohongmu
untuk aku tak lagi mengingatimu

kerana
aku sedang membohongimu tentang menyukai dia yang
sebenarnya adalah kamu


nota kaki: lagi karya beliau, sila klik.

The house was quiet and the world was calm

By Wallace Stevens


The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer night

Was like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,

Wanted to lean, wanted much most to be
The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The house was quiet because it had to be.

The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.

And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,
In which there is no other meaning, itself

Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself
Is the reader leaning late and reading there.


-end-


To read at night, I think, creates a realm of autonomous solitude. In fact, doing anything at night gives you a sense of solitude. Have been surrounding myself with books these days - a habit that I have forgo not too long ago (yes, I shouldn't). I guess sometimes life just takes over, and you think if you don't get in the pulse of things you will be left behind. But no, not anymore. I have taken the calmer approach and just taking things really slow now. Certain events have made me realize that in the end, things will come around. So meanwhile, just kick back and relax. Do it like the Marley.

Short short story: Girl and Tree

Once upon a time, a girl decided to climb a tree. She reached the highest branch and sat atop uncomfortably. But the view made up for that. The vast horizon was there before her and her eyes can only take so much of the excessive goodness.

She sat there for a while and thought, wouldn't it be great if I can go over to that town I see from here. She set herself to climb down from the tree to begin her journey to said town.

Then the unexpected happen. She realized that it was an imaginary tree, that there was no branches, no vast horizons and no towns.

So she fell down from the no-tree tree to the ground. And died. And nobody gave a sh-t.

The end.

Sad Toys

by Ishikawa Takuboku

When I breathe,
This sound in my chest
Lonelier than the winter wind


In the opening poem of 'Sad Toys', translated by Sanford Goldstein and Seishi Shinoda.

Walking Away

I just realized

There is such a concept

as, Walking Away

If I had known

That it was possible

I would have, Walked Away

But I was told 

I knew and I could

But I wouldn't, Walk Away

Kau Ni Kenapa?

by Tramizi Hussin


dalam titis-titis hujan yang turun ada kau,
rintik yang jatuh di mata ialah bundar matamu,
titis yang lepas ke tengkuk ialah manis bibirmu,
rambut basah di usik tanganmu; dada lencun ditindih gebu dadamu,

kuyup tubuh dimamah tubuhmu,
dan aku berteleku menikmati segalanya,
dalam hujan aku temu kau; dan antara rintik aku hancur merindui.



I must tell you, I effing love this piece of poetry. I haven't read/heard a good one for quite some time, and just coming across this, made me breathe a sigh of relief. Good poetry still exist. Especially in Malay - my mother tongue that I would not ever take for granted.

It's hard to write a poem without having to sound like you're trying too hard, what more to write it in Malay. Poets writing in Malay tend to be 'simplistic' with their ermm, presentation (?), eventhough they pile on the big words. To me, it's not the bombastic vocabulary you use, but rather how you use simple words that can mean many things.

The poem was included in the Pinggir Malam Yang Mati book of trio writers - Tramizi Hussin, Shafiq Halim and Zulwaqar Akram. It was published by Jargon Books, which I bought at one of those flea markets/bazaar thingamajigga I went to recently. I also met the famed (underground, sort of) maestro, Aloy Paradoks, in person and was kind of starstruck :p

Mr. Mystery Man

                         

The smell

- familiar.

Who are you?

A nobody

- just a person

who happens to be in your life.

The sight

- well, none.

Where are you?

A place

- very near.

As close as you want me to be.

The presence

- inevitable, unrepentant.

Why are you here?

A purpose

- for you.

I am the reason you live.

I make the blind see.

Apparatus

Let the balloons go
I've had someone say
But chase the chase of a dream

And just before you grasp
the entirety of it
in your hands,

record the wind underneath
keep the feeling in your hand

and then pull it by the string.

Let it float free
but tug at it when need be.

Sang Pemimpi

I was reading a blog - a good one at that - and read his latest post. Bellissima.

From his blogpost (an excerpt from a book, Sang Pemimpi):

"biar kau tahu, Kal, orang seperti kita tak punya apa-apa kecuali semangat dan mimpi-mimpi, dan kita akan bertempur habis-habisan demi mimpi itu!!". "Tanpa mimpi, orang seperti kita akan mati..."

                                                                                                    ~Sang Pemimpi~


How true. Dreams keep us alive. 

Read the rest of his post here. 





 

a glimpse

When you count the days
o went you count the days,
were you thinking of me?
o were you, were you?

no exception

It was a damp night - the rain has just stopped falling and my feet shuffled, one after the other. And I was missioned to get home and retire in the comfort of my bed.

As I was walking, a soft cry broke the still corridor - it was a girl, in her 20s.

I asked her why she's crying. "I'm heartbroken", she managed.

Like how I would expect another person to tell me things are going to be fine, I told her the same thing.

"No", she said. "It won't"

And how would you know that, I challenged her.

"You don't understand".

I told her that every one will get their hearts broken at some point, and asked her to take a breather.

She cried even harder than before; like she just heard the worst thing.

Guilt simmered through my veins at that, and I offered her my arms - to hold on to.

"It's the fact that I let him broke my heart. Twice. I let him".

You feel like you broke your own heart, I murmured.

"Yes, that's right".

It happened to me too. I felt the same way.

"Really?", she sniffled.

Yes.

And at this point, the wind shifted us a little and I was moved.

You know what, sometimes I don't get it either. I don't get how it happens. How you think you are all aware of it, but you just can't control it. And by the time you try to stop it, it's already too late.

There was silence; thoughts and emotions were floating in the air freely.

She suddenly stopped crying and said

"You're broken too".

And the night closed with a curtain of mist.

Queen of Small Talks

Hi there
How are you
Where're you from
Yes I'm from here
No it's not my first time
Really
When
Haha no you don't look familiar to me
Maybe it's the beer
Oh it's juice
You're funny

I think she's great
She used to be in a band
Yes quite a weird wavering voice he has
I doubt he knows chinese
Oh what dialect is that

Wow you're great
Really
You know some
Like what

Haha
Cows eat grass
That's random
Who taught you that
Are you sure it's not a comic
What else

Oh haha hi
Ya nama saya Izza



(for Dominic from Austria with 'a bit of a German descent')

Haiku pergi

Toleh belakang -
Lihatku dari jauh
Selamat tinggal.

Curiosity killed only the cat

The case is fragile.
I know not what is in store.
I will let it break.

sope

The harder you squeeze
The tighter you grip
The more it slips

Could have, but won't

Just as you see me as that, I see you as this.

Differences is better than indifference, and so we shalt agree to disagree.

We are nothing but two people on two separate boats, travelling on opposite ways.

Thanks for your two cents, and you can keep mine.