PUstaka puJAngga

the persistence of memory

a leaf falls under the moonlight
an owl awakes when it touches the wet earth
I try not to think of you when
a leaf falls under the moonlight

a bamboo flute shrills in the midnight hour
a cicada awakes when it touches the wet rock
I close my eyes and try not to remember when
a bamboo flute shrills in the midnight hour

why do you always come in the middle of after-midnight dreams
o shadows of a persistent memory?
like a mirror held up to a mirror
you have imprisoned me in the clearness of your deceiving truth
the flatness of your colourless familiarity

in the mist of sunless mornings
you leave me crying my sinful cries
you have cursed me with the curse of a baby born dead

I have walked in the land of the banished angels
I have seen the vision of the smiling little children
but still in the middle of after-midnight dreams
when you come in the clearness of your cursed familiarity
you leave me crying my sinful cries

o shadows of a persistent memory

totem
-to René Magritte

a nude woman casts her shadow
on the wall
in the shape of a bird
with its wings
spread

the bird is a hornbill
that rules the ancient trees
of the Sumatran jungles

look! she’ s flying now!
she’s flying high across the blueness of the sky
across the blueness of the sky on the lake
under the sky
looking for her lost shadow
the nude woman who descended the rainbow of the heaven –
a poor fisherman, a poor fisherman of my dream
kidnapped that descending nude woman
and brought her home
to the village by the lake
to be his wife
the mother of
the cursed son of that cursed marriage

a hornbill casts her shadow
on the lake
and the blue water grabs her
before another fisherman awakes

in my dream

merry christmas anyway

3 blind cats were
fucking by my front door
the night we celebrated our last christmas –
I wonder if you remember

the last christmas of this millennium is near
and everybody wants to be the first mortal
to witness the first rays of the christian new millennial sun –
the mortal sun
to be crucified again
in the next millennial beach party

seems that I’m going to celebrate
christmas alone again this year
since you’re never here
and you never want me there

and I wonder if the 3 blind cats
will be here
celebrating christmas
with screams and bleeding bodily wounds

I hope it’s going to be a fine weather

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Filed under: Poetry, PUstaka puJAngga