(1) Kombucha

Cloth-strained gold!
Bubbling for release
Supple to the touch
Parting mother's kiss

Harvest for a tang;
Temporary bliss
Bottled up inside
Lonely child; persist.

(2) In Reverse

A quick peck on Death's shoulder,
six of gears grind to a halt.

Of poor spirit and ill temper
The Fool comes out to taunt

Tire of cars, of the World
Keep spinning—or not.

(3) My Introduction to Poetry

Cold seat;
in the next room
over

daydreaming
beyond certainty,
past regrets.

Idly, dusty fingertips
trace worlds
left by another

in foreign tongue
barely parsed,
it says;

“Weathered spine,
be her witness—
mark the day
she truly lived!”

(4) Faith

Stranded between two hills;
a desert beneath my tongue.
I dig my feet into the sand
and wait for a miracle.

(5) Life Hack

Door-rapping,
trespassing,
rainwater slipping

through gaps.
The house rolls
up its pants.

Ankle-deep,
wrinkled feet.
Things keep

flooding in.
Wedged
between

threshholds—
some humble
plasticine.

(6) Reunion

We were both bright-eyed, once. We all were. Idealism, once flush across our cheeks, worn down by callous indifference. Apathy slowly crept its way into fine lines. Furrowed brows carved out a permanent shadow on our complexions. And perhaps most damningly, our tongues have gotten sharper throughout the years.

As our visages continue to molt repeatedly, the rift between us becomes clearer. While you embrace your dark circles—refusing to cover it for fear you'll look like somebody else—I hide under a thick layer of concealer.

(7) Kuntilanak

Spectral mother robbed of child—
robes of grief; white as shrieks
piercing tall canopies.
Hair worn down, jet black
straight. Errant woman up too late.
Vengeance knocks on men's own door;
through demise she wipes the floor.

(8) Fig

For each divine pulp
there is a sliver of rot;
be it bygone chances
or tragic sin.

The taste of folly
is sweet and soft;
Let the juices ooze,
dripping down your chin.

(9) A Pantun on Beauty

Pindah ke rumah di tengah kota
Jatuh dan pecah selembar kaca;
Hidup janganlah terpaku muka
Fokus kepada faedah saja!

Moving house to a big city
A sheet of glass falls and breaks;
Life is not about being pretty
It's about the goodness you make!

(10) A Blip In History

Light up!
Nary a touch to the skin
Move up!
The metal box rattles within

Give space!
Glyphs of yore laid out;
Isolate!
What could that be about?

(11) Gone Right

Darkness calls for cunning hands;
shadowed folk and high demands.
Treasures wait behind red rope;
purloined tales around the globe.

Broken glass and bypassed measures,
All-black-gear feels oh-so clever
When all is done, he reads his heft;
the story told—of its own theft!

(12) Fuel

An empty cup
sitting at room temp.

Shaky lips meet cold porcelain.
Nothing.

As the liquid works
its way through the body,

the works slowly grind
to a halt.

(13) CTRL+P

Corroded motherboard—
Chipping away bytes, pixels,
memories otherwise safe.

Cables wrangle me, tugging me
towards the screen, begging me
to stay.

As I try to manifest
as something real—
the printer runs out of ink.

And I cannot afford
the branded bottles that
it tells me to buy.

(14) Jasmine

Once crowned, adorned;
then-lover, now scorned.

The scent trail of doom
in empty-lit rooms

marks her arrival—
An end to a cycle.

(15) Hamster

She pointed towards my cheeks as I was chewing food, “you eat like a hamster, see?” she puffs up her own cheeks. I shovel food into my mouth the moment there's enough space to do so, practically keeping my cheeks full at all times.

I laugh. Maybe I do eat like a hamster.

It's been four years since she made that observation, maybe more. We don't talk much now. Still, whenever I see a hamster, I think of her—comment.

(16) Farming

My father's garden yields
cucumbers of a formidable size,
while my mother raises
two fizzling jars of kombucha.

Each time my mother throws away
an old colony, she feeds it
to my father's plants

so we could enjoy a fresh
cucumber salad on a hot summer's day.

(17) Made to Measure

Seam-ripping the crotch
on my new pair of pants because they
weren't as high-waisted as I wanted them.

I operate on a dimly lit crafting table,
dull scissors sloppily cut through excess fabric,
leaving frayed edges.

Pants off the shelves never fit me
the way I want them to.
However, I'm no perfect seamstress either.

As I tug on the final thread,
I look at my newly high-waisted pants
that I could wear comfortably.

(18) Appointment

Stiff chairs force me upright
Bright lights during late nights
AC close to frostbite
All here for the same plights

Mind wry, causing upset
Constrained by the mindset
Thoughts race at the offset
Past choices and regrets—

Door creaks—'nother patient
Some hushed, others blatant
Same me; different faces
Long day—many cases

"Come in," said the doctor
Bag down, she sat proper
"Your pain?" tilted head asks
"Not much," says the old mask

(19) Pembangunan (Construction)

Beton nan tinggi menghias Manggarai
Gerbong kereta membawa harapan
Banding-bandingkan apa yang kau capai
Mutlak hidupmu menjadi bayangan

In Manggarai stood concrete beams
While train cars are packed with hope
Comparisons wreck self-esteem—
Turns you into a wandering ghost

(20) Moving

We used to visit the small rest area near Pasteur.
There we carried a trunkful of cold yoghurt,
looking for a savory snack;
stale fried tofu with too much salt.

After my uncle moved out of Bandung,
My parents had fewer reasons to buy yoghurt
out of town.

That rest area has faded away now. Replaced
by a bigger complex of stores further up the toll.

And I sometimes wish things would stay small.

(21) An Old Friend

Paperback. Blue. 367 pages. Annotated in 2B pencil. Sat on a metal bookshelf. A little dusty, but otherwise untouched after I read it many years ago.

I remember during my senior year, flipping through the pages of this poetry book with such care and attention to detail even when I couldn;t make out half of what the terms meant. My eyes followed the curves of the annotations—all written in English, but seemed so foreign to me. My eyes glossed over the technical terms, nose buried in old paper smell while my chemistry teacher was explaining something. I couldn't tell you what a poem was talking about without the help of the footnotes left by this person.

Eight years later, the words form meaning. My eyes no longer skim past the jargon and instead, I sit with the poems for longer. Let the weight of each rhythmic line linger in my chest. Trace the lines of graphite with my fingers, grounding myself in the physicality of it. I find myself revisiting interpretations and analyses I could agree or disagree with. For once, I understood.

I close the book again, holding back a tight feeling in my throat. I wish I could bring it back home with me. Give it a loving home. Yet it is here for a reason. I can only hope I'm not the last person to flip through its pages.

(22) It's almost winter

For Mirza

It's almost winter where you are
I wonder if you miss the rain—
How we were cooped up in that room,
Played make-believe through one long game

You have new people with you now,
Collective storytellers, too
To huddle up on snowy nights
Instead of running from monsoons

Until a snowflake hits this town,
I hesitate to book a flight.
For you have changed and I have not—
Experienced a snow that white.

(23) Soaked

For Jean

A bag of weights upon his back
He scratches for a thing he lacks
To walk for miles when no one does;
With scorching suns high up above

When clouds roll in he pushes through
He could not guess what cars would do—
And SPLASH! It goes, on his good shirt
If nothing else, he is not hurt.

And so the man devised a plan
To have a set of clothes on hand
Next time the rain comes crashing through
At least he knows what he should do

(24) How to Apply a Temporary Tattoo

1. Cut out the design you want
2. Clean skin where the art will go
3. Place down the desired 'tat
4. Anywhere from your head to toe
5. Peel plastic right off the back
6. Place it where your arms could reach
7. Dampen towel until it drips
8. And press till you feel it seep
9. Wait a sec till the tattoo sets
10. And the back just slides right off
11. Let it dry before you move
12. A tattoo that can be removed!

(25) Three layers

Three layers of clothes
Two soaked in sweat
One scorching sun
No fan in sight

(26) Waiting Room Thoughts

Paradoxically, this queue makes me want to die
All for a blister pack of pills
I could live without this routine
Just wait for a miracle to come

All for a blister pack of pills
Wasting away in a waiting room
Just wait for a miracle to come
But what If I don't want to?

Wasting away in a waiting room
I could also just leave
But what If I don't want to?
To suffer for suffering's sake

I could also just leave
I could live without this routine
To suffer for suffering's sake
Paradoxically, this queue makes me want to die

(27) Advice

Troublesome mate, she
turns; wise sage. "His means are wealth—"
"Hearts know no riches!"

(28) Personality (To Not Lose What Has Been Given to You)

I hate to toil for riches—see;
Have-heart and blind reality,
  Lost faith in systems,
  My will resistant
Self-serving 'till I cease to be

(29) Fragments of Those Left Behind*

(I)
Train lines cross to where we meet;
Cars slowing down for cows
Three hours pass. Maybe four
Jumping from train to train

(II)
Inside a Glass Jar
Away from responsibilities,
I know not why God led us here.
Three hours pass. Maybe four

(III)
Droplets forming on the windowsill
Condensation of caffeine builds up on my forehead
Mud seeps into my shoes;
Three hours pass. Maybe four

(IV)
Through my eyes, you've changed.
Whispered between empty spaces;
Be it tragic ends or celebration
Three hours pass. Maybe four

*Drafts and unused lines throughout Poetry October

(30) Tears

Tears streaming softly
Stifled; can-nots manifest:
Small, round, white, bitter.

(31) Kesimpulan (Conclusion)

Petir dipetik seperti senar gitar
Irama membadai diiringi siul angin
Sebulan berlalu; tulislah sajak sukar
Lantas penyair 'kan tetap jadi rajin

Pluck lightning like guitar strings
Wind whistling to a thunderous tune
A month passed; difficult writings
Continue he will, without stopping soon