Longing for rain, haibun

It's always the rain. After months of drought, it's always the rain I can't hardly wait to listen to the pitter-patter it makes on the roofing. It's always the rain to bring the stream back to the ditch under the platform where my workstation situated. It's always the rain that calls the minnows and catfish back to the pond in the backyard. It's always the rain that revives my memories of you.

swaying at window

the shadow of a leafless tree

of a long gone girl

The sand of Nanganesa haibun

Nothing changed after two months as I step my feet back in the sand of Nanganesa beach.
They are there where they were; the cliff, the trees and fishing boats. The sky, too. Don't they move just a little somewhere?
Nothing changed. But this nothingness.

over

the sound
of waves—

the sound
of wave

Degrees of separation haibun

In my hand is her memo telling me that she decided to leave our house. No need to re-read it, I already knew from the very beginning that it will happen. Sooner or later. But it shocked me, still. 


more unused hangers
in the wardrobe--
her scent

Changing shape of clouds haibun

Just figured out, after hours from dinner, a new way to sip my coffee. 

the moon, and i too

enjoy the changing shape

of clouds

Jack-in-the-box haibun

I slowly return to my full concsciousness. My senses are back, quickly map out the surroundings and produce a graphic representation on my mind screen; a 3x2 meter windowless wooden cabin, red mahogany, the floor lifted inches above the ground.

Outside of the cabin is completely mental darkness; nothing my senses can fathom but the smell of dust trapped between the logs stacked to erect the wall structure.

jack-in-the-box
even beating heart
in silent mode

The light slips thru a tiny leak on the ceiling intensifies and falls on my face. It’s the only light illuminates this room, too weak to light up anything around me. Sunlight? It probably is as my skin feels the heat it radiates on my skin. But, still, I doubt my own guess.

discerning
darkness between lights
complete desolation

 

Satori; Chapter 20, haibun*

Men are fools, Solange thought as she left the house in Tokyo.
A few tears, a sparkle of en eye, the twitch of a hip, and their brains are as easily turned off like an electrical switch. 
Haverford was smarter than most, just as blind.
Like the rest, he sees what he wants to see and nothing more.
Nicholai, on the other hand..
Dommage.
What a shame.

lanterns in the breeze
in her mind, darkness and light
darkness and light

*The prose excerpted from Don Winslow's Satori, Grand Central Publishing, June 2011

Satori haibun

After Haverford left, Solange turned to Nicholai and asked, "Does it bother you?"
"What?"
"That I was a prostitute."
The question surprised him, " It's an honorable profession in Japan." 
"It isn't in France."
"I'm not french," Nicholai said, "There's nothing about you that I find to be anything but delight, a joy, and an honor. 
Solange came into his arms, kissed him lightly on the neck, and said softly, "I think I'm falling in love with you."

satori
from across the roji
fallen frangipani

"And I with you." His words surprised him as much as the actual emotion, something he had not felt for years, something he had taught himself never to feel again. It had been his experience that anyone he loved went away, usually through the portal of death.

in the cha-shitsu
the hiss of the kettle
between words

*The prose excerpted from Don Winslow's Satori, Grand Central Publishing, June 2011

Flight of the herons haibun

Suite No. 132 is at the end of the hallway, where nothing but a wide thick transparent glass is between me and the open air. The warmth creeps on my skin and drives away the shiver as I momentarily let the sun bathe me with light.

I notice the amber in the west a second before three knocks on the door. “Please, come in,” a female voice reaches my eardrum from the inside.

She rises from her chair the moment I show my face at the door, and rushes for a formal handshake with me.

outside the window
the flight of white herons

Chanel no. 5

I knew it won’t be a meeting we usually had in old days. “It’s been long, and you know where it goes,” she said emotionlessly. Not commanding, just a bit colder than her please-come-in.

years lost

what’s within the perimeter

of her deeper voice

Early bird haibun

Awakened by the chill early this morning, she gazes at the wall clock hung on her gray wall. No ticking sound she can hear. "I need some new batteries."

early bird
under the sheet
his aftershave

::
Dingin yang merayapi kulit membangunkannya dini hari itu. Matanya melirik jam di dinding yang kusam. Ia tak mendengar bunyi detik yang biasa ia dengar. "Ah, aku harus mengganti baterainya."

bangun awal
aroma aftershave
di balik sprei

Climate change, a haibun

00.23 AM. The night is young and it's me grappling with a stack of paperworks on the desk while some junk emails await for removal. "You need spam blocker," she says, seeing my grumpy face, again, before my Macbook. She stands from her chair, heads for the bedroom and leaves me with my weary head. "Yeah, I know," I reply but she seems no longer in conversation mode.

My iTunes plays Suzi Quatro's Cat Size at the bottom of the customized vintage rock playlist. I take a sip of my coffee, feel how the sediment roughly slides down my throat, and turn on the room TV for a little distraction. The hotel clock shows 01.26 AM, I straighten my back and stop scanning the channels for climate update on Discovery.

melting iceberg
she's in satin lingerie
digesting Rumi

Table manners haibun

Table manners

I was probably the clumsiest among others in my family at holding the spoon and fork. Unlike Mom, Dad, my sisters and brothers, I held the cutlery like holding a knife, instead of the way I took a grip on a pen. We didn't use a knife to savour a dish.

"Use your bare hands," my Mom said almost each and every evening when we had dinner with the whole family. "Wash them first before you start," my Mom added and moved a ceramic bowl of water towards me for hand washing.

family dinner
chinese dancer dances
in the bowl


Adab di meja makan

Dibanding anak-anak lainnya dalam keluarga kami, mungkin aku yang paling canggung menggunakan sendok dan garpu. Selalu saja aku memegang sepasang alat itu dengan cara yang aneh. Aku yang memegang sendok dan garpu seperti aku memegang pisau, bukan pena.

“Gunakan saja kedua tanganmu, tapi jangan lupa cuci dulu,” kata ibu.

makan malam
penari china menari
di kobokan

*Thanks to Alan Summers for his grammatical suggestion..

Mehta haibun

Time passes by, the wind swings gently the lightbulb hanging on the ceiling. Tomorrow will be a long journey, my eyes wide awake. My monitor dims to safe the battery. I can't decide; stay awake for nothing, get some sleep or get back to my work.

crickets and gekko
a cowbell and whispering wind
where's Mehta?

Malam merayap, angin mengayun bola lampu yang tergantung di langit-langit. Perjalanan besok akan panjang, mataku tak mau memejam. Layar komputerku meredup untuk menghemat baterai. Fikiranku terpental-pental; sekadar begadang, mencoba tidur atau menyelesaikan pekerjaan sisa tadi siang.

jengkerik dan tokek
kelonongan sapi dan angin lalu
di mana Mehta?

I got a bite!-a haibun

Sunday is the day i like most these days. And today is the day. My boy in rubber boots leads me to a spring under a cluster of trees. His fishing rod, much taller than him, leaning on his shoulder, with the thin end pointing straight at my face. "I won't fail this time," he says, keeps on staggering along muddy causeway.

repeated pattern--
my footprints
next to his

It takes no time to get there before we throw the bait, an earthworm at the hook. "I'll catch the big ones," he says. Keeping his eyes down, breathing slowly, sensing any movement underwater with patience and eagerness, he pulls the line and something is struggling for a loose at the other end of the fishing line. I know, he's not happy with it but still there's a smile on his face. "Was your catch this small when you're at my age?"


Akhir-akhir ini aku sangat menyukai hari Minggu. Dan hari ini, anak lelakiku, dengan sepatu bot dari karet, berjalan di depanku menuju mata air di bawah pepohonan yang rimbun. Joran pancingnya, lebih tinggi daripada badannya sendiri, merunduk di atas pundaknya. Ujungnya menuding tepat ke wajahku. "Hari ini aku tidak boleh gagal," katanya sambil berjalan, sesekali terhuyung nyaris tergelincir, di pematang yang licin.

pola yang berulang--
jejak kami
beriringan

Tak perlu waktu lama untuk mencapai mata air sebelum kami melempar kail dengan umpan cacing di ujungnya. "Mudah-mudahan dapat yang besar," ia menggumam. Matanya tertuju ke air, nafasnya lambat, syaraf di telapak tangannya mengindera setiap gerak di bawah air. Sesuatu tampak meronta di ujung senar pancing saat ia mengangkat jorannya. Aku tahu, ia tidak begitu puas melihat hasil pancingannya, tapi senyum tetap saja mengembang di wajahnya. "Waktu ayah seumurku, dapatnya juga sekecil ini?"

Drifting apple-a haibun

He, some said, is an-almost-perfect resemblance of me in smaller size. And it's been almost 9 years I watch over him, be his company and friend, and a mentor anytime he needs me to be. We have so many in common, but he's not a bamboo shoot that grows fast without leaving the cluster. He never walks in my shadow.

old trunk
an apple falls
and drifts along the stream


Banyak orang bilang, dia kembaranku yang nyaris sempurna, dalam ukuran yang lebih kecil. Dan hampir 9 tahun sudah aku menjaga, menjadi pendamping dan teman di perjalanan, dan pembimbing kapanpun ia inginkan. Kami memang mirip satu sama lain, tapi dia bukan rebung yang tumbuh cepat tanpa meninggalkan rumpunnya. Dia tak pernah berlindung di bayanganku.

batang tua
sebiji apel jatuh
dan mengembara bersama arus

Cricket's song haibun

Outside, the wind gently blows; compensating previous troubled nights with tenderness and serenity. It’s not supposed to be a sleepless night. But it is for me. Less motivated and bored, I let Murakami and Morrison talk to themselves in my old quilt-covered cotton bed. Don’t want to hear anything, I throw my iPod into the drawer and let it there with a box of video DVDs I’ve watched some weeks back.

I turn off the light and close the shutters. The first is easy but pulling down the eyelids are much harder. Blanketed by the blackness in the room, I am wide awake in silence. So quiet, nothing encroaches my ears. But I see the music.

cricket’s song
even louder in the moonlight

Banda Raya, July 16, 2009

Firefly in a cookie jar haibun

My little boy, Afrizal Hasbi Azizy, underwent a tonsilectomy on Saturday (July 11, 2009) morning. When he was escorted out of the operation room, I saw him crying so painfully. He uses to be brave and afraid of almost nothing. But that morning, I saw the tears rolled down on his face. It happened just 5 days before his 8th birthday; the day he's been thinking about in the last three months, the day he'll be expecting a set of Pokemon card as his birthday present from his mother. I won't be able to be home on the big day to hug him with love, and to surprise him with another given away.

firefly in a cookie jar--
a dream birthday present
for a wounded boy


Wedomartani, July 12, 2009