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Midnight Malarkey

a peek inside the poetic freak

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Heart

Pulse

A letter. A rhyme. A means to say and still be silent.

When people are in love—when we, human beings, experience this wonderful chemical reaction—we often become poetic, associating how we feel and who made us feel that way to a beat.

We say our heartbeat races, two beats of the same heart calming to the same melody of the soul. They’re the beat to the song that makes us move. The beat that makes us feel oh so alive. Or live, even.

Likening you to a mere beat, beloved, would be a sin for my part.

You’re so much less, yet more.

You’re a pulse.

Unromantic, eh? Soundwise, poets would agree. But do bear in mind that they too would ask the meaning of this unrhyming metaphore before discarding it into the pits of condemnation.

If your eyes ever lay on these words, I beseech thee to do as such.

You are a pulse, my love. You don’t make my heart move, but you show that it’s working. A lack of you won’t show I’m dead—simply, I may breathe—yet, neither living. To say you give me life is lying. God does that. Anything meaning otherwise means I’m a con, condescending what we both put faith in. A con, descending myself to a bag of meat in need of you. Condescending you to a need, a means to feed my greed.

You are a pulse, my dear. You don’t put me to work like a song. Loving you has never been work all along. Relationships are, one with you would be, but to love—loving you—is simply me. Not that you’re never a burden, but one I’d take. I’m not perfect either, but I’ll do the best with what I could make.

You’re a pulse—something I feel. A beat lies deep, buried in warmth of the chest. A pulse runs deep, running everywhere else. So much so, for how do I hide what I have for you? It comes out so clearly, others feel it too.

Like a pulse, I feel you. Each layer of my skin, each vein craves the oxygen you bring. You’re the one who sends me fresh air to breathe. You’re not the only one coming through, just the one that matters.

You matter. Like a pulse, you’re the one I check. If you’re healthy, I’m happy. A beat can always be manipulated. Not so with what I feel for you.

This is amazing. You’re not that much of a mystery. Like a pulse, I can learn your inner workings. And yet, everytime I feel you, I feel me. Each night before I go to sleep, I feel you in my body. I pray to God when morning comes, I feel you’re still with me.

A beat can always be felt, though concealed. A pulse, though known, is only felt by the most delicate. It’s not merely fierce. It’s less, yet so much more—a beam, a warmth, a glow. Don’t you like that my love? To be with you, I’ve evolved, and I actually like it. I like the way you make me feel—delicate, alive, unreal.

Do you see how wonderful now a pulse could be? How you can be?

I’ve wrote this though you may never see. I hope these things won’t leave me dead, still unsaid.

It is late, beloved. Now I shall go to bed.

I pray to God, when morning comes, I feel you as I wake.

Jakarta, December 2015
!!th @ 23.19 — 12th @ 00.39
[with some editing]

gifts-3

Percakapan dengan Hati

“Ini,” kata hati. “Ambil aku dan hancurkan. Tak apa. Dan setelah itu, kau bisa menulis.”

Jangan. Bukankah kau sudah cukup tersakiti? Bukankah baru saja kau kembali patri?

“Tugasku pada tubuhmu dan padamu. Pada tubuh, untuk detoksifikasi dan menampung racun. Padamu, membiarkanmu terkena toksifikasi dan menampung rasa terkena racun.”

Aku terdiam. Betapa tabah si organ. Tak heran ia menjadi sorotan hidup banyak orang.

Bukankah kau lelah? Apa kau tak takut mati?

“Kurasa kau tak mengerti,” katanya, tergelak kecil.

“Semakin kau merasa, semakin aku ada. Baik senang atau sedih, tawa atau sakit.”

Dasar, kau, masokis! Tawaku sendu, dengan berselimutkan haru.

“Bukankah aku mencerminkan dirimu, sayang? Berhenti menyiksa dirimu, maka kau akan berhenti menyiksaku.”

Diam. Senyap beberapa saat sementara kata-katanya kuserap.

Namun, bila tak lagi bisa merasa siksa, lalu bagaimana?

“Maka kita bernyawa namun tak hidup, dan jiwa kita mati.”

Dear Heart

Hello, little trouble maker.

It seems I’ve written a lot about you, but never really wrote to you. My, my, what kind of person would that make me? Beating around the bush like that just won’t do. So here’s a little letter (may not be the only one) for you.

You just love watching me get flustered, don’t you? Well, I do too—watching people get flustered, that is. So it’s not like we’re contradicting each other. But, in all seriousness, you got me pretty good this time. Kudos to you! A problem worth flustering over.

I know, I know. It’s not actually a real problem. It’s just a condition. Still, it’s an annoying one for me. A troubling one, considering how emotional I can get. But it’s what we both like about me, isn’t it? How deeply I feel is as much of a curse as it is a blessing, but even if it’s the former, it’s one I’d contently choose to live with. :)

Do you know what I like about you, heart? You never cease to amaze. How much you carry, how strong you affect, how big a portion you take in one’s life—it’s awesome, really. You’re awesome heart.

So, let’s get to the (somewhat) more poetic part of this letter, shall we?

Little trouble maker, here are my promises to you:

I promise to acknowledge you for your worth and never shut you out. I promise not to deny when I’ve been caught. I promise to let myself feel and not place a clot. I promise to live with you ’til the day I die (not that I have much of a choice, ha!) and never question you “WHY!?”. I promise to accept what you’ve chosen, I promise to tell when it’s appropriate.

When circumstances break you, I promise to let myself hurt to heal. I want you to remind me that it’s painful because it’s real. I promise to be thankful for sadness and happiness, love and hate, fear and courage, confusion and confidence. I promise to take care of you and pay attention to what you need. I promise that when I know you’re right, I’ll force my head to heed.

Little trouble maker, I’m sorry for the neglect and from now on I’ll repent. If I fall into the same hole twice, I’ll crawl out all the wiser and hope not to get tricked trice. I’m sorry for cursing and fretting and wishing you’d go away. As much as you could be bad for my health, I genuinely plead you to stay.

Thanks for staying alive, and fighting back when I need to see the things worth living for. My gratitude can never be enough.

I’ll stick with you (and my head too, but you know what I’m getting at),
me

Untuk si Hati

Sesungguhnya hati tak perlu pulang. Ia memang tak diciptakan untuk menempati rumah. Yang ia perlukan ialah teman berkelana. Yang dapat menemani dan berjalan bersama. Seperti dua jantung, jika berdekatan detaknya menyatu. Begitu pula hati ingin kawan seperjalanan untuk mengusir sepi dan sendu.

Tentang Hati yang Ingin Pulang

Hari ini hati menyadari sesuatu. Ia ingin menetap dan tetap di tempat. Ia lelah. Ia mau pulang. Ia tak punya tempat untuk berpulang.

Tubuh memarahi hati. Katanya, rumah sudah menyediakan semua. Air hangat untuk mandi dan menggosok gigi, tempat untuk bermimpi. Juga dapur tempat mengolah untuk megisi perut dan sunyi untuk doa seraya berlutut. Tetapi bagi hati, ia ingin yang lebih lagi.

Otak tak memahami hati. Baginya, semua adalah rumah. Kau hanya perlu pulang ke dirimu sendiri untuk berpikir. Entah hal penting atau genting atau untaian imajinasi yang miring. Otak berkata rumah adalah konsep jasmani saja. Jika kau yakin kau sudah di rumah, kau sudah pulang. Namun bagi hati penjelasan tersebut tak memuaskan.

Jantung berdetak, berkumandang. Walau tak banyak bergerak ia tak perlu pulang. Ia selalu tahu tempat dan tugasnya. Diallui hidup yang meneruskan hidup ke masing-masing jalurnya. Jantung selalu terlindung. Dilapisi kehangatan hidup, diapit kelembutan paru-paru, diberi tameng oleh rusuk.

Kedua kaki menimbrungi. Mereka ria karena ada satu dan yang lain. Kaki yang terus menapak berpulang pada pasangannya. Pada sejoli, senasib, yang sama suka dukanya.

Hati tak mengerti. Hati makin merana, pedihnya menjadi-jadi. Ia ingin pulang. Yang tak pernah berkelana ingin pulang. Yang memiliki tujuan merasa hidupnya hilang. Yang memiliki teman merasa sendirian. Hati bingung. Ia ingin pulang.

Kemana kau harus pulang, hati? Jangan tanya pada yang lain. Tanya dirimu sendiri.

Hati bertanya pada hati. Hati masih tak mengerti. Hati bertanya pada hati lain. Hati lain juga tak mengerti. Kemana lagi hati harus pergi?

Malam datang dan tidur menjelang. Tubuh tidur, otak tenang. Jantung tetap terjaga dan bersenandung, kaki dan kaki bergabung. Namun hati tak tidur, tak tenang, berkabung sendirian. Hati masih ingin pergi. Ia masih ingin pulang.

Sebenarnya apa yang kurang?

Malam ini hati menyadari sesuatu. Ia merasakan sedih yang belum tentu berlalu. Ia tak punya tempat berpulang dan tak tahu mengapa semua terasa kurang.

Hati akan terus mencari. Hingga detak jantung dan pikiran otak berhenti. Saat dua kaki kaku dan tubuh ada di liang kubur. Sampai saat itu, hati akan terus simpang siur.

Sayang. Hati tak tahu. Ia tak diciptakan untuk menempati rumah. Bagaimana ia bisa pulang?

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