Monday, May 7, 2018

Abu Abu




Berimpit di antara semua warna.
Tercampur hingga tak kasat mata.
Menggambarkan titik nol, dari ataupun menuju.
Hanya satu abstrak yang tak terucap kata.

Ketika terlalu banyak mengambil salah langkah.
Berada pada buku yang sama namun lain halaman.
Atau lembar yang sama pada karya yang berbeda..
Di antara dua hal yang berlawanan.

Satu keputusan, memutuskan asa.
Memungkiri keunggulan lawan di atas kertas.
Untuk pengakuan yang tersebar di luar sana.
Mewakili delapan titik tanpa batas.

Sunday, April 1, 2018

Stalker 101: Prolog.

There was once,
When the birds stop singing,
When the kids stop playing,
When the dads stop caring,
When the hopeless stops praying.

I rise, when this big-white-floating thingy shows itself, avoiding pedestrians in my hoodie and direct sunlight. I'm not some kind of mystic creature that haunts living things with sharp claws or sharp teeth. My eyes are brown, my blood is red, I breath oxygen, and all my hair and nails are perfectly trimmed. Looking at the people fighting at the crossroad. Some people shouting, some people honking, some people pointing at things, those popping veins on their foreheads, the traffic lights keep changing colors. Seeing that girl not noticing she's been walking her dog with her dog's shit under her shoes. Catching at the right moment when that man lights his cigarette on the wrong end. That robbery over there, with a man holding a big bag of money and the policemen are chasing him. You can really see everything from up here. Some people choose to be ignorance, some people are just plain stupid. I choose to ignore that woman, about three miles over there with her green binoculars.

In the end, this internet thing is finally deciding to stay, after all. More nudity, more violence, more bullying. Browsing through this entire forum, discussing how a small creature can cause a horrifying, slow, painful death. It's inspiring, though. Even a small flap of butterfly wings can set off a horrible storm somewhere. I look everywhere. Everyone's got their own iPhone. Everyone's looking down. It's an epidemic. A fucking real zombie apocalypse, if you will. Along with their routine. Get up at eight, go to work, having lunch at twelve, finish at five, swearing on the traffic at six, dinner at seven, relaxing after dinner, and what I mean by relaxing is: checking on their smartphone simultaneously (if you're alone as fuck), and then go to bed at ten or eleven, get up at eight, and so on. Me, on the other hand, fucking hate routine. I do different things everyday. If one thing is consistent about my life, it's inconsistency.

Do you know that after mating, the female praying mantis eats the male's head off? Just leaving him there to die. Don't trust any woman. I mean, at first. You bring your feelings first, and sure enough you'll get your head bitten off. I threw away the idea of being in love a long time ago. In spite of people blaming anyone else for what bad they experienced, you of all people should know, that you should take a second look in the nearest mirror and think. What made them did what they did. Were you the reason they did what they did? Did they got back at you from something you did? My point is: blame yourself.

The white flag in your house turns into yellow.
The girl or her idea that you should follow.
When you see me, don't expect me to say hello,
I'm not that kind of fellow.

As soon as I get down from this building, life of the people in this list are never gonna be the same again, for better or worse. They will say that this was none of my business. Actually, that is my business. How, you ask? That is none of your business.

Saturday, March 10, 2018

The Useless One

Meet the mother.
A loving wife.
A part-time gardener.
Showing how to live a life.
Working hard as a bargainer.
Always simple and being an example.
The kindest person under the roof.
Never leave things undone.
The loved one.

Meet the father.
Solid as a rock.
Pushing himself on a morning walk.
A designated driver.
A corporate survivor.
Even though he had never be fun,
He's the responsible one.

Meet the sister.
She's always there.
She's everywhere.
Being a wonderful mid-wife.
Already figured out her life.
Praised by the family.
Oozing so clammily.
As silent as a nun.
She's the smart one.

Meet the son.
Laying around like a dog with no job.
As useful as a cobb.
In his twenties and unemployed.
Took his test so long.
Like the intro of every song of Pink Floyd.
Even though he got straight A's.
From his birth to his high school graduation.
Even he was the ace.
Now he seems like he's at the end of the station.
Just point his head with a handgun.
Because he's the useless one.

Tuesday, January 23, 2018


She's not unbearable, just too predictable.
Even though it's not fair,
For me or for her, to compare.

Making me better than being with myself.
Not keeping my mind in my own shelf.
To prevent me drowning in my own haunt.
That is simply what I want.

Even though I don't feel the tingling,
Slowly, I'm healing.

Maybe I just can't wait.
Because everybody needs a clean slate.

Picking up from what we left but it was different.
Getting some tonight then act indifferent.
Try to talk highly but she's not on the same level.
Sort of having a conversation in the medieval.

Trying to ignore her, for stating the obvious,
She had no idea, totally oblivious.

Friday, December 29, 2017


No lies, consider it done.
Exchanging smiles, from day one.

No more playing, no more second thought.
I'll never try to make you something that you're not.

Making you laugh,
Writing our own autobiograph.

These are not promises,
These are vows.

Erasing this lost cause.
Hoping we unpause.

Tuesday, December 19, 2017

How Ordinary Are You?

Stepping into the light.
Stars, they unite.

Living in a denial.

Placing death on a speed dial.

Future with no face.

Where troubles take place.

One day it feels okay.

Then god says,"Not today."

Dreaming of a perfect world.

A life of the uncurled.

Another tale of a question.

Add a third party in that equation.

Being married to sorrow.

Gonna try,
First thing tomorrow.

Thursday, December 7, 2017

The One

Telling these stories hoping a clean slate.
About you know what and you know who.
Years too far and years too late.
About when I fell and which I blew.

Searching for The One.
They said.
What comes after The One?
The next one.
The other one.
They said.

For better or worse, she chooses.
Getting out of formality.
Every little details every little excuses.
Making path out of technicality.

All these years I've been listening,
To my own gate, opening.
Always looking.
Secretly wishing.