sejuta masalah
berbicara minta jawaban
sejuta derita
menjerit minta pengakhiran
kekuasaan diatas
membawa celaka!
ya, sudah tahu itu
terus gimana kalau begitu?
kebolongan
bergema rhetorika
sunyi
kosong bunyi
Sepanjang keluar dari Jakarta sumpek-sumpek rumah di pinggir rel
Realitas sudah menjadikan lingkungkan tak lebih dari sebuah sel
Kemiskinan bekerja sebagai sipir yang menjaga ketat
Kereta api lewat menuju tempat yang lebih indah, hati hanya tambah kesumat.
We were talking about food last night and a memory came back to me – for the umpteenth time.
Narrow and dark and most of all hot. If I ended up at a back table, 3 or 4 metres inside, the sweat would pour from forehead and my hair would be wet enough to comb again in just 20 seconds. And the prickly heat itchiness would invade. Better to get a table at front, and visit only at night. So narrow, maybe 2 or 3 metres, and even narrower at the front – maybe one metre or 1.5 metres. It was narrower at the front because half the width was taken up with the kitchen. Sitting at the front one was almost being on the footpath. Sabang Street, in central Jakarta, in 1969 was a fun street. It was almost all restaurants, cafes and other eateries, with a row of Chinese owned general stores – also selling smuggled gin – and another row of photocopy shops, so needed for all the documents necessary for almost every activity in Indonesia.
Mall!
Mewah;
Etalase
Selera;
Tenagaku
disewa;
Kantong
Kecewa;
sistem,
tercela.
“We”
“We are the 99%”
A declaration of a tiny few, 100 or 1,000 or 10,000
In this park or on that street corner,
under baton blows, or faces painted with capsicum sting,
or laughing or shouting in discussions.
Just a few “we”.
A creative “we”
Declaring is beginning
A “we” on the offensive demanding to exist
Constituting itself in activity
Straining to embrace the whole in its journey
“We are the 99%!” searches for its maps.
Gua menelan kita
Kacau ribet lalulintas luar hilang lenyap
Nikmat tergantung kantong
Musik rekaman tidak bisa menghilangkan jiwa senyap
Narrow rough asphalt grey
Fences and walls defend snatches of privacy
The ting ting ting of meat ball sellers
The cacophony enemy of ears from the three wheeler
Dryness, then dark downpour
Outside rapacious streets gobbling time, time, time
Insatiable
The whirr of a fan
Humm of a laptop
Work, maybe
White or blue or yellow all-the-same dress
Sewed-in name on pocket
Blue singlet, overalls
White shirt, collar and tie
Smile hiding a grimace
Alien from one’s hands
A uniform experience
A union of rejection
Surreal
Reality defined by the borders of cafe conviviality
Too real
Reality defined by bomb flash and hunger pain
Surreal
Blue sky winding-down mood
Surreal
Black, darkening sky, all sketched in blood red,
Tear scarred screams, exhausted eyes of hopelessness
Real
Raised fist, organised ranks, grim smile, hopeful
Real Surreal
Words with sharpened points punctuate a sleepiness
Real
Surreal
No walls between
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