Random Story – 14 Feb 2017

Earlier this morning, inside a cafe, scribbling while waiting for the rain to stop, there was a conversation between me and, let’s say, someone else. A guy, perfect stranger, suddenly sat in front of me, and asked, “Why?”

Confused, I responded with, “What do you mean by why? And more importantly, who are you?”

He smirked. “It does not matter who I am. Not that important, thank you very much. As of this point, the most important thing is the big why?”

“With all respect, I…” Not a complete sentence, and he cut me off.

“Listen. Why do we exist? Why do we love each other, kill each other, comfort each other, torture each other? Do we exist for such reason? Why do I exist? Why do you exist?” He pointed his index finger, trembling, as if his body could not take an enormous flow of energy from somewhere out of this world.

“Is that all?” I asked, trying to killing time under the rain. I did not know this person, but I would like to see his responses for all chunks inside my mind.

“What do you mean by ‘is that all’? Oh, boy. Are you that naive or what?” He made a double facepalm.

I showed him my right palm. “Say, imagine this is the palm of truth.” Continued with my left palm. “While this is the palm of untruth.” I clapped them, gently. “Now, which voice is that belong to?”

“I…uh…” He drowned in silence.

“Perhaps, the truth is, you do not really care. That’s none of my concern, to be honest. ‘For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction,’ or that’s what Newton told us. You, sir, barged in with a big why, and now, you can feel the ripples of your own question. Are you not fully prepared to drink your own medicine?”

I continued my scribbles. The waiter came. “Here’s your coffee. Enjoy it while it still hot.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Having a conversation with voices inside my head could be an entertaining activity. That guy, you asked? He did not even exist.


Filial Piety

Filial piety
is a close fit,
or assembly
for pity.

A pity of lost
time, clogged
dreams, and lost
innocent soul.

But it’s a legacy
that binds family,
however blindly
you choose to be.


Waktu itu tidaklah jahanam
Meski bukan jarang aku mengingatmu setiap malam
Antara canda tawa, walau kelam
Semua peluk mesra, walau temaram

Nasib itu tidaklah memihak
Meski acap kali aku jantungku sesak
Tak pernah terlahir cinta yang dikekang pasak
Nyatalah semua kedewasaan, ranum yang telah masak

Adalah keegoisanku yang meracuni
Setiap jengkal kehangatan, perlahan tersakiti
Setiap genggam ingatan, perlahan mati
Setiap bait dirimu, tak tergenapi


“What’s in a┬áname,” you said
For that, without it, I’ll crave
“How can you be so sure,” you asked
For that, my heart suddenly blasts

“But a rose is a rose,” you snapped
Without labels, we are depraved
“You are wrong,” you turned
With judgement, I am human


Do not go gentle into that good night.
False memories will embrace dark blight,
A growing venom to devour your might.
Sunk, and raise against the lies of your sight.

Do comprehend and devour that godless night.
Forged words with empty promises and endless spite,
An endless scar for your soul, benight.
Smile, and cry with dismal tunes of the wights.

Breed the mad cry for that good night.
A pave before your dying sprite,
Fate and time are not your lovely knights.
Rage, rage against legions of implacable fright.

Yes, I’m still playing with this.

Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night.
Old lies are meant to embrace the dying light;
Burned face of deceit, upon truth in blight

Do not go gentle into that good night.
Afraid of the depth abyss, darkness kisses our sight.
Those who long for might, but frail with fright.

Do not go gentle into that good night.
Gentlemen with greed of divine rewards, ignite,
Writ of fools, bathed in pools of eternal spite.

Do not go gentle into that good night.
Godless wild ones, hunt with time, incite,
Without cage of rage, but excite.

Do not go gentle into that good night.
He who forgets his mask of the right,
Soulless poem and unknown cite, benight.

In case if you know Dylan Thomas, yes. I just knew his poem via Interstellar. So, I “play” with his poem a little bit, just because I want to.

Moonless Nights

Your frozen red lips,
a fine instrument of death,
embraces my soul.

Under this white moon,
one frenzied utopia,
we burn our passion.

White petals of mind,
love is but a mere word,
that we do not need.

Should we let our heart
embody one-another

Pray for one long night,
hope not for a ray of day,
we are to be one.

No. There will be no purification here.