belenggu

pernah suatu saat

di depan cermin aku bertanya

bimbang tentang bahagia itu apa

kebersamaan justru menyesakkan

mencoba untuk lepas

namun masih saja terikat

atas belenggu yang kau sebut cinta

bodoh

maka suatu malam perempuan itu tertunduk

tak lepas-lepasnya mengutuk diri

logika yang diagung-agungkan telah mati

sebab begitu bodohnya dia jatuh

pada hati yang telah berpemilik

Metanoia

He still couldn't sleep.

It was 2 AM already but his thought was hijacked by the image of someone he met a few hours ago when he strolled around the town to get fresh air and saw a girl with red scarf covering her hair coming out of a building with some people were singing, probably, some Arabic songs inside. They accidentally bumped to each other and she picked and gave his phone he dropped, apologized and then left.

It was mere of a few seconds but he couldn't forget her eyes. They were the shade of the sky as storm blows in, a hint of grey threatening a pure blue day; the kind of color that a lovestruck poet would write tons of poems about. Even he could feel the sonnets forming in his head.

He was very used to admiring girls by their figure, their waist, their hips, their hair, or even their teasing voice. Something about her drew him in, very alluring yet so calming. He couldn’t forget the excitement of her eyes when she talked or the pure smile she gave when her friends were telling her stories; basically the warmness he felt just to look at her. He couldn't figure it out what this unfamiliar feeling was but he knew he needed to see her again. Tomorrow.

Yes, he would see her again tomorrow.

Dangerous Game

He didn't even realize how yet here he was in the hotel with the woman he wasn't supposed to be with. He should have said no, life would be much easier that way. This was a dangerous game that would cost his life.

But how was it wrong when he never felt so right in his life?

His worry began to fizzle out when he saw her. Her arms were above her head as she danced, eyes closed as if she were taking a moment to herself. Before he could think what he was doing, he put his hands on her golden waist and nudged her close enough to feel the heat of her body.

There was a brief moment of clarity as her jeans slipped below her hipbones to expose black lace; she was dangerously exquisite. As she continued to sway her hips to the rhythm, he could feel his moral slowly slip through his fingers.

Red

 "Are you ready?" The man asks.

His eyes seemed so transparent, never in her life she would've imagined to see the depth of pitch black abyss. It was both enchanting and scary, like if she looked into his eyes a little longer she would get lost in it and never come back.

"Yes," the woman whispers seductively into his ear.

Within seconds, he slits her throat with a knife he bought yesterday. The white bedsheet turns into red; her favorite color.

"I love you." He then lands a kiss on her forehead.

Freezing Night

That night was freezing.

The thought of her mom's sweet potato bake, her dog Booboo, or her warm blanket that she just washed this morning comforted her a little bit. "You can do it," she said to herself.

Fresh blood was dripping in every holes of her body; everything is painful, even just breathing seems to hurt. How long had it been she walking? Her legs weakened, she didn't have any strength left until she saw a group of people sitting around campfire.

Was she hallucinating?

She could hear someone screamed as her body fell to the ground. Before she closed her eyes, she vowed to herself she would take revenge for anyone who caused her pain.

3 months and 27 stitches later..

She had already reported those fuckers to police but she never knew the process to let them rot in jail was so long. Too long. It was exhausting, physically and mentally, and she honestly was so done with everything.

They said that time heals all wounds, but does it even matter when the scars are still fucking there? It didn't help the fact she couldn't sleep at night without the prescribed pills. The painful memory from that cursing night was still replayed on her mind like a broken record. Again and again.

Setangkai Ilalang Terakhir

Setelah sarapan pagi bersama istri dan anak-anakku, aku membaca koran di ruang santai keluarga. Sesasaat kemudian, ada seseorang yang memencet bel pagar depan. Istriku yang duduk di sebelahku dengan sigap berdiri, tetapi kuhentikan memberi isyarat padanya untuk duduk lagi.
Dengan langkah gontai aku menuju ruang tamu dan membuka pintu. Segera kuhampiri sosok yang berdiri di balik pagar rumahku yang setengah terbuka. Dari dekat kulihat seorang pria tua yang kemungkinan berusia 70 tahunan dengan tahi lalat di dagunya membawa sebuah kardus persegi panjang berukuran sedang. Pria tua itu tersenyum ramah padaku.
“Bapak mencari siapa?” tanyaku dengan sopan.
“Benar ini rumah pak Adrian?” jawabnya masih dengan senyum ramah terhias di wajahnya. Entah kenapa senyum itu mengingatkanku pada seseorang di masa lalu.