the late-night roof philosophy

I love the fact that i love sitting here in the dark, at the roof. The quiet and the dark give me peace. The feeling of warm ceramics on my heels. I love the way i can hear the crickets and a hint of the television downstairs. It makes me feel home and at the same time faraway for adventure with my own thoughts. The sky now is amazing. I can see the clouds on navy sky. And some stars. I love seeing the shadow of the leaves from the garden lights on the wall. I am able to just observe my mind wander, and see the stars. Ive always loved the night sky. And moon. And clouds. And stars.

The stars; i know why poets and storytellers write about them. It is when you are alone and staring at the sky from your roof, and feel everything else dissapear. If you tilt your head a little, it's as if your neighbors' roofs dissapear. And suddenly it's only you and the sky. And you get this strange feeling as if you look into a whole future, or the whole past; it's like staring at a whole eternity.

words out of rain

i remember on one rainy day, under a dim window light and the smell of wet soil there were words that i conscientiously wrote for you with the hell and heaven from my veins. i remember how i hoped and closed my eyes at the end of each sentence and my eyelashes fell onto the paper and i secretly made wishes on them. i remember how each word tasted like home and how the spaces between words felt like a place to stay.

but then all of sudden the rain stopped and the smell of wet soil was gone and i spent quite some aching time wondering why and where they'd gone or whether they were even really there because i have always felt like they were watching me like a trusted friend when i was writing words about you.

it was only when i stopped questioning i suddenly heard there was a strange music in melody i oddly felt familiar with it seemed like calling me from places that are close to my soul.

so i tossed those words to a passing boat that was sailing to the ocean. they said it went to one of those floating old libraries at sea and would never come back.

sungkan

saya tidak suka mengunci hujan di luar jendela. rasanya seperti menelantarkan kawan yang baik hati.

tentang luka dan sepi.

dalam sedih manusia akan melarutkan diri dalam bising. karena bising akan memberi ilusi bahwa engkau masih memegang ujung tali kontrol. semua tampak ramai dan cepat dengan kilasan lampu-lampu dan cahaya; bisa saja ujung tali itu sudah lepas dari genggamanmu, tanpa engkau menyadarinya.

namun mereka yang sedikit lebih berani akan memilih sunyi. sunyi itu jujur: ia menggemakan bunyi kesedihan di dalammu sehingga engkau akan merasakan kehadirannya, begitu panjang dan nyata, seperti bunyi angin yang menyentuh daun-daun di jalan. ia menggoyangkanmu agar kau sesadar-sadarnya menyadari kesedihanmu. menerimanya, merengkuhnya, membiarkan ia mengikis dan membentuk keberadaanmu.

lalu pada suatu titik, engkau akan merasa tenang.

sedih itu tidak pergi, melainkan entah bagaimana telah menjadi bagian dari dirimu.

kesedihan yang kau rasakan dengan sunyi telah membentuk jiwamu; ia merobek-robek dan menatanya kembali. dan kau akan menjadi satu lagi. namun selamanya engkau akan membawa garis dan bentukan yang disebabkannya.

teras rumah

kau mulai mencintai kembali kegelapan halaman rumahmu, mencium aroma malam dan daun menguap dari keramik terasmu. dengan lagu yang kau senandungkan di pikiranmu, engkau perlahan berdansa dengan pagar rumahmu, berjingkat di atas bayangannya. kau tidak ingat menghitung berapa langkah dan satuan waktu yang berlalu semenjak kau berada di situ.

before you sleep.

there are memories that are crystalized, kept somewhere in the corner of our mind. those memories are like a warm drink, eternal in the part of your heart.
sometimes you cannot help it but, in a gap between time, take that memory, pour it into your cup, and seep it into your soul. you need warmth; and it warms your soul.

for me, those memories are when i really looked into your eyes for the first time. when you kissed my lips, gently, for the first time.

sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensamble

someday you will find happiness just by laying on the grass and breathing. and you do care for a yellowing leaf falling on your head: you notice how sometimes sad and fragile and beautiful things are. and you silently admire the sun light on your hair. and you learn that daydreaming is the time in life when your mind is bigger than your body. bigger than your world.

like you see treetops and skies through the eyes of a child on the back of a bike.

Have you ever daydreamed about the world, the era you will never see and feel and know; the world of past; the world of future? Have you ever daydreamed about the people who never see the world you live in, the world you wake up to? Doesn't it make you want to grasp every tiny moment in your life?

and to be honest, you are my favorite thing to daydream about.

of every tiny blood vessel. of skins. of night promises. of a raindrop on your cheeks. of silent moment before you get out of bed. of a tiny ship sailing through the sea in a bottle made up of glass. of your lover's whispering in your ear.

and your voice. your voice is like a cup of latte on sunday mornings.

and you see through the window. you see your tiny ship in a bottle, with your messages on a piece of paper, filled up with questions you seek. what do you want? how to be happy? why did it happen? but now you let go those questions; you still watch the tiny ship going slowly to the sea, but you dont expect it to come back with answers like you used to. you just watch how peaceful the bottle sailing to the place that your mind cant reach. and your lips murmur a tiny prayer.

let it go, let it go. sometimes your own mind is a trap door.

lets sleep tonight in our rooms, with hundreds of pictures of tiny ships in bottles on the wall: we are grateful for questioning. we let the answers to be owned by the sea. so now lets cry, lets laugh, lets shout, lets run. uncontrollably.

and i hope you find your tree.

00:57
through my window i can see a half-lit cloud
Sydney

dia, bintang, dan kata-kata yang tak perlu diucapkan.

pada satu waktu ia berkata tanpa bersuara,
"aku ingin sekali berkuasa atas langit malam. melayang kepadanya. menjadi pimpinan atas formasi keindahannya. merangkai senyumku dalam bintang. lalu tanganku menghentak dan bintang-bintang itu bersinar. untukmu. mungkin malam ini."

dan aku hanya terdiam; mungkin diam mengungkapkan bahasa yang tidak terangkum dalam kata-kata. mungkin bintang-bintang juga diam karena tanpa berkata mereka sudah menyuarakan keindahan. maka aku melihat keatas: melihat langit malam.

dan melihat bintang.


dan kamu adalah konstalasi pribadiku.

earplugs and street.

she realizes there is something about listening the music from her earplugs and watching the people passing by. she thinks of  home faraway. she feels strange. she feels familiar. she feels lonely among these crowd on the street. she finds some kind of peace.

then she notices a vague rainbow on the sky. in its perfect form. and it's still drizzling. and the dusky sky has a hint of grey and pink. it is so beautiful and she starts to look around, planning to share with anyone in the street. what can be more magical than a rainbow on a pinkish sky on a one warm summer drizzling evening? but people are walking and rushing, their eyes are on the street, not on the sky.
she forgets people usually do not care for little things. so she keeps this little secret to herself.

hujan.

ada sesuatu tentang
baju-baju cucian yang tidak
sempat diangkat waktu
hujan datang.

ada sesuatu tentang
cara titik hujan
jatuh diatas sandal tua
yang lelah.

jarakku memandang hanya sebatas pagar di halaman belakang
jarakku membayangkan melewati padang terentang.

november, 6/2010.
sydney.

all images are ©priska febrinia.

midnight packages

a mug of warmth and
a piece of longing heart.

and all those colds are gone.

i want to live in a library

sleeping with a book-blanket out at sea.
-seabear, library.

i love libraries, especially the dim-lit, quiet and somehow messy libraries. not the bright, happy libraries, glistening with new colorful books. i love the kind of libraries that are a bit dusty, that reminds you of simple beautiful things which are probably forgotten while you are living in your busy world; the kind of libraries which make your heart beats a little bit faster when you walk along its quiet isle because you feel like you are entering a secretly magical, strange but somehow familiar place. you can't not love the feeling when you can hear your own shoes on the floor and sense the smell of old books. the quietness, the feeling that you're surrounded by some kind of unrevealed mysteries, the feeling when you move your fingers through dusty old books from faraway places.
and you know, you are having your own little adventure.

more photos here

perjalanan pulang

lampu kota mengabur. di antara banyak langkah kaki dan suara aku pelan-pelan membisikkan namamu ke udara, mengucapkannya tanpa bersuara, melepaskannya dengan hati-hati, berharap ia sampai dengan selamat ke atmosfer dimana semua berbaur antara mimpi dan harapan dan doa dan kenyataan.

dan aku mengucap syukur dengan sunyi: mengetahui bahwa engkau ada di dunia ini memberikan kelegaan yang tidak bisa aku jelaskan.

for the memory under the cotton tree

I remember,

it was breezy and warm, in the first day of summer,

the wind carried the sweetness of meadow flowers,

and the freshness of green grasses.

That time I saw you,

smiled, staring at the clouds.

Quiet. Wise. Bothered not by the outside world.

In the moment you caught my eyes,

I remember,

tons of silence,

but your eyes spoke tenderly,

the words hided under your wings.

Smiling,

you asked me to follow,

barefeet, stepped on the dewy grasses,

greeted the sun and the trees,

listened to the river and the wind.

You said, "I want to live like them;

free, but in harmony,

careless, but in compassion",

and I was amazed. I could not say a word.

It is breezy and warm, in the first day of summer,

I’m standing in the middle of meadow-flowers.

I remember,

and I smile.

It was my first love.

March 3rd 2007

for introduction to literature class

let's go somewhere stupid

meet me in the same daylight sky
sit beside me and
take out your wooden spoon and lets
take a spoonful of sunbeams
and a mouthful of clouds
and laugh at our own silliness

meet me in the same night sky
lay beside me and
bring your kaleidoscope
take a look at the stars and
call them by their names, and lets watch
the wind passing by,
wondering where it goes
wondering where our life goes.

you know, sometimes
i just want to wash my face in the sky.

driving

only the thought of you gives me the ability to smile at
the billboards. at the traffic lights. at the faces of the
strangers. at the raindrops on
the window.

about dawn.

do you know the time when you feel like you are sleepwalking between the dream and reality? everything that are used to being very familiar to you in the day: trees, windows and curtains, coffee cups, holes on your pavement, your feet on the grass, sound of the door swinging, clouds, sunlight, feel magical, and new? And you start looking in every direction, trying to grasp every color, every shape and every move, like you see it all through the eyes of a child in the back of a bike. you discover yourself. you remember what it's like to be yourself. then the sun comes and they are back into the things you knew, but you have this kind of peace in your heart and that's enough.
that's why i love dawn.

dawn and tea

a cup of tea early in the morning
pouring a steamy cup into
the shade of daydreams.

i used to be an owl.

i used to be an owl
who sat in your tree
watching your dream-catcher caught
your nightmares

i used to be an owl
and you used to be my serene dream
you know
the kind of dream that makes you smile on your sleep
because it feels real?
but as i'm half-awake
i try to recall
those reveries but
it's as if
i'm trying to hold on to
the water
in cupped wings.

i used to be an owl
and we used to sit shoulder to shoulder
whistling to the sky
and talking about the planets, your wooden rocking chair beside the fire, our hazy dreams, and my messy little garden.

i guess i am not an owl
anymore
but i'm growing weary for
not being one.

pour laisser place aux rêves de douceur.

hey it's just me. and my worn out shoes.
but maybe together, you and i, we can find something beautiful on the horizon.