Literature, personal

[CERPEN]: THE NOMADS OF THE EAST

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credit: Paul Almasy: Gruppe von Nomaden in einer Oase, Sahara, Afrika (1955)

We were the Nomads of the East.

I always thought that Earth was the loneliest place in the universe. The roads we took on, all the trees had gone from their roots to the tiniest twigs, the burning asphalt in the summer, the piercing cold of the water in the river everytime we took a sip, the blazing sun although illuminating thousands of iridescent glows could never lift up the shadows within each of our heart.

Say, I had always been on the edge of my non-existent-wooden chair in regard to know the world before us. And what was beyond us. Since I was born I had wanted to set my feet to every inch of the land, leaving traces of wherever I was. But, then, was not that how were living our lives? Wandering her and there, not belonging anywhere.

Until it was later, I found out that if there should be one single thing my heart so desperately desired to obtain, it was a place called home.

Continue reading “[CERPEN]: THE NOMADS OF THE EAST”

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Literature, personal

[CERPEN]: UNTUK PEREMPUAN YANG SEDANG TIDAK DI PELUKAN

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source: saatchiart.com

[Warning]: Tragedy, angst, 2nd POV

♫♪: Banda Neira – Yang Patah Tumbuh, Yang Hilang Berganti; Payung Teduh – Untuk Perempuan yang Sedang di Pelukan; Chantal Kreviazuk – God Made Me; Oasis – Wonderwall; The Goo Goo Dolls – Iris

ACT. I Untuk Dia

Scene I – Rumah Sakit Cipto Mangunkusumo, Bangsal Psikiatri Dewasa.

Butiran fluida telah merembesi tanah di luar bangunan bertingkat yang telah begitu akrab selama setahun belakangan. Saya menawarkan diri untuk mengantar kamu menemui dokter kesekian selama terapi yang kau jalani.

Saya bilang, tidak mengapa, maafkan dirimu. Asal kau tahu, mereka pun berkata begitu tentang kamu.

Dia, perempuan yang sebelum genap 20 tahun resmi didiagnosis mengalami depresi mayor. Persetan apa kata psikiater kedua dan ketiga, pada lembaran resep berisikan antidepresan juga Xanax. Dia memiliki mereka dan saya.

Kamu telah menjadi tempat yang saya pikir bisa disebut sebagai rumah. Untuk kembali pulang, menemukan kenyamanan untuk berteduh, pelukan hangat dikala ragu, serta bahu untuk bersandar saat hidup begitu keruh dan diri merasa terlalu rapuh.

Saya ingat pertama kali melihatmu, mengenakan kebaya biru di hari kelulusan sekolah, saya hanyalah saudara kembar dari seorang teman yang bahkan tidak akrab. Kau ingat? Siswa sekolah kamu dan saya sering terlibat tawuran. Dan hari dimana saya bertemu Dia, persis sebilah bambu runcing menembus nadi jantung hati.

Siap terbahak lagi dengan perkataan gombal saya tiap mengingat kamu?

Kemudian kamu dan saya diterima di kampus, fakultas, dan jurusan yang sama. Sayangnya, tidak pula ada tanda-tanda dua bilah kutub saling menjamah kedua hati yang seakan kian menjauh. Sedihnya, saya hanya mampu merindu. Rindu yang semrawut, tidak bertanggungjawab karena saya tidak mengerahkan usaha untuk menjemput kasih.

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Literature

[KISAH]: JINGGA KALA SENJA – AKSARA

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credit: mabrurisirampog.wordpress.com

ACT I – AKSARA

SCENE I. An Apartment, San Francisco.

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

-Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe

There we sat, not in the kingdom by the sea, but in his own room, the clock on the far wall was clicking unrelentingly thus making such eerie sound reverberating to each nook and cranny; it was rather a peculiar night: still, dissolved like diluted ink, almost disquieting in its serenity.

I was a child and he was a child, though people would address us as mere teens with our blissful and joyous adolescence days, but here we were, not in the kingdom by the sea, with I reading this poem to him. I did not have to make him to listen to my regular reading because he had always been conveniently fascinated by it, maybe it was my voice or somewhere between the verse. I would never know. I liked it when he would be completely captured in my reading, tilting his head to one side without uttering a word, his careful eyes bored into mine, we barely broke the staring-contest just because I had memorized each word by the heart.

When I reminisce to this memory, it was vivid and bright, perfectly clear. Just like a pictureperfect memory, there was only he and I, with the limitations reaching infinity, crystallized in this moment forever. I restored it in the secret box at the back of my head.

Continue reading “[KISAH]: JINGGA KALA SENJA – AKSARA”

Islam, Literature

[CERPEN]: GELOMBANG QUR’AN

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credit: nottingham.ac.uk

Salman Al-Fatih Arrazy. Telah menjadi hafidzh sebelum genap berusia empat belas tahun. Ketika kecil, tiap kali ditanya ingin menjadi apa, dijawab dengan: memiliki hidup yang dijalani oleh Rasulullah shalallahu ‘alahi wasallam. Berpedoman dalam koridor Al-Qur’an dan Al-Hikmah, selurus-lurus anak panah dilepas dari busurnya.

Tidak pernah mengikuti pendidikan formal, ijazah yang ia miliki merupakan kejar paket kesetaraan. Menguasai bahasa Inggris tingkat profesional dan bahasa Arab dalam percakapan dan menulis. Tetap saja, tidak ada yang merasa cukup penting untuk memberitakan bahwa di usia enam belas, ia lolos seleksi nasional sebuah universitas prestisius di Singapura. Tahun berikutnya, ia pindah menuntut ilmu bidang keteknikan di Turki.

Siapakah sosok yang membentuk dirinya sedemikian rupa?

Ibu.

Dan atas kehendak Allah, maka terjadilah.

Usai menjalani perkuliahan, ia mendalami dunia kerja mulai dari ditempatkan pada situasi off-shore di Timur Tengah, menjadi konsultan, dan kini menggeluti perniagaan.

“Sebagaimana Rasulullah. Karena beliau adalah idola saya. “

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Literature

[SHORT STORY]: THE SMOKE BECOMES YOU

Cisentor, Mount Argopuro (In frame: F. Ardiansyah)

♫♪ || Waiting the World to Change – John Mayer; Intuisi – Yura; Beauty is You – Abdul and the Coffee Theory; Dealova – Once; Mimpi – Isyana Sarasvati


It begins with the very first of the hundreds pages.

To Supernova, the flaming burst, the dance of falling stars

This is how I fathom my thoughts to depict the constellations

Today is the day when everything is re-framed and the wall is made of inks and papers

And it is simply beautifully hopeful.

So, I create: are we out of the woods yet?

===

Rain approaches her visions like dull melody from distance away, chilling the lonely soul to the marrow, drifting deep into the box of memories without giving a way. The sun is completely hidden beneath rows of dark grayish clouds as she wonders whether the weather has just turned wild since the sunrays cannot be even seen from the place she resides herself, taking in such melancholy scent of the droplets on once dry earth. For a moment she can reminisce of this state being, where she is utterly absorbed in this lucid sensory details—the raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, pair of arms embracing her narrow shoulders keeping her away from any harm.

It turns out that those arms are the inner side of her sleeping bag. She catches a sight of the dome from the yellow summer tent.

She also can make out that the sun does not wish to be found.

The young man is outside. Maybe he has this certain wish not to be found either. In the middle of the vast savanna. Alluring, ravishing, endearing in the most pleasant way. There is a hint of warmth tinging her cheeks each time she recalls any memory regarding him.

They never mind if he frequently strives on daydreaming. Completely immersed in one single thought. It could be a rampant imagination, vivid hope, or perhaps, a mere prayer.

She keeps a journal made of faces and dates. Polaroid collages with small sentences inscribed underneath. It is the synopsis of Lalita Parvati: neighbors, acquaintances, old friends, new strangers conveyed in military precision.

She takes out a Polaroid camera, taking a photograph of him who has been heavily drenched in cold water. His sunkissed skin is adorned in trails of lurid gray—the blood has drained to the feet from his lips. It is almost natural to post the picture near the end of those pages. A snapshot of silhouette amidst the fuzzy fogs, murky dusk from the edge forming a vignette, greyish with a hunting tone of sepia, his back is facing the lens, not allowing anyone to take a peek of his expression. Always keeping a secret.

However, she cannot resist to imagine a certain smile. Of passion and kindness, a gentle heart, the ensnared senses, the bewitched soul. She can picture of sunshine, saccharine-coated voice along with a particular hum of lullaby, followed by unearthly scents which fill the damp air. They are just so thick, stirring on her mind like a terminal illness.

She does not realize until now, that his scent lingers on her clothes.

Black carbon. And the other substances just don’t matter.

Continue reading “[SHORT STORY]: THE SMOKE BECOMES YOU”

Gunung Hutan, Lingkungan Hidup

[CERPEN]: AJIAN GITA

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In frame: H. Trahasdani (during a recess, Mt. Argopuro, East Java)

Sinopsis:

Kau yang sedang mencinta, kembali lah kepada realita. Kepada yang hatinya terbelenggu dan tertambat, jangan tertukar antara racun dan obat. Kepada kau yang terjatuh dan tersesat, jangan kau lepas pegangan yang kian menguat.

Ketika Gita berkata bahwa ia merindukan Rengganis.

♫♪ || Banda Neira – Kau Keluhkan (Esok Pasti Jumpa); Ke Entah Berantah; Yang Patah Tumbuh, Yang Hilang Berganti.


“ Kita bakal ikut. “

Aji tidak menyahut.

Apa yang ia pikirkan? Bahwa perjalanan lima hari empat malam menempuh trek puluhan kilometer bakal semudah itu? Dan kini ia berencana untuk melakukannya sendirian. Dia pasti sudah gila.

Sejurus kemudian ia bergumam, “ Gita ingin kesana. “

Lalu kenapa? Saya nyaris menyerukan kalimat itu tepat di telinganya. Ini adalah gunung dengan trek terpanjang di Pulau Jawa. Persetan bahwa ia telah menjelajahi Sindoro menyambung Sumbing dan Slamet. Atau menapaki hutan Lawu dengan keril terisi penuh seringan melangkahi jalanan beraspal. Atau dia sudah bolak-balik menyambangi Semeru, Kerinci, dan Latimojong bersama kawan sekolah atau konco kuliah. Atau ketika ia marathon Merapi-Merbabu hanya karena dorongan impulsif lantaran ia masih kuat untuk lanjut. Atau bahwa ia pernah melakukan ekspedisi ke belantara Kalimantan selama sekian minggu. Atau ketika ia tersesat di hutan lumut belantara Argopuro dua tahun lalu dengan kehabisan logistik dan hanya bermodalkan peta, kompas, dan korek api.

Pendakian tidak akan pernah sama. Walaupun itu adalah gunung dan trek yang sama. Atau bahkan kawan jalan yang sama. Hal-hal yang terjadi, momen yang terlewati, waktu yang dinanti, segalanya pasti berbeda. Apa yang ia pikirkan?

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Literature

[CERPEN]: DIALOG BINTANG

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credits to Aji Tata

Cangkir kopi bertanya apa yang tengah kupikirkan. Mengapa semalaman diri ini hanya mendongak dari balik kaca jendela pada temaram malam.

Entahlah, kastil ini bagai penjara. Bola-bola besi yang terhubungkan rantai tak terlihat melilit pergelangan kaki. Atau mungkin jeruji tak terlihat itu menjadi kian nyata karena ia memang diciptakan olehku sendiri. Aku hidup di dalam tempurung yang mengurung. Sudah lama aku merindukan hangatnya bantalan tanah pada tiap jengkal bumi yang kupijak. Naungan kanopi dedaunan pohon di hutan. Punggungan dan lembah yang bersenandung memanggil lantaran terlalu lama aku abaikan.

Terlebih pada Sang Pangeran.

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