Go forth and abandon multiply !*

For 'tis dead dead.



*my facebook id is Mikael Johani

guess it runs in the family

Rumah indahmu
(written while watching Tita* playing water at San Diego Hills**)
Endang Johani***

tercapailah kini yang kau cita
diam di bukit luas cakrawala
rumput hijau memangku danau

kalau tidak di hari tuamu
maka biarlah di hari abadimu
senyum bidari
nyala lilin
menyambutmu
karena kau pulang di hari jadimu

riang cucumu mengecipak sejuknya air
yang mengalir di pinggir makammu
kutahu kau damai di alam sana
karena makammu indah penuh bunga

                                             18/02/08****

Di makam tua
(written otw from bekonang***** to skh******, very sleepy)
Endang Johani

dua orang lelaki
dua generasi
berjongkok di kerikil makam
mencabut perdu, memungut daun bertebaran
menyapu jejati di tanah hujan
berdoa kepada tuhan yang hampir dilupakan
kupandangi mereka, mengharukan

lalu kutaruh bunga di atasnya
bapak/yangkung, ibu/yangti
dan adik bayi mungil di kaki makam
yang kini dipangku Tuhan

                                            21/03/08

*my mom's granddaughter, not from me
**actually in Krawang
***my mom, yesterday she asked, as she handed me these poems, 'how do i join your Bunga Matahari thing?'
****the day after my dad, her husband, died
*****a little village outside solo where my mom's family comes from, also ray sahetapy's village in opera jakarta, because arswendo atmowiloto who wrote the script came from this sleepy, incestuous village, too. so did srimulat
******sukoharjo, the kabupaten town next to solo, we were going to a wedding there

and what i like about this city

is how everywhere you go you see people trying to make a living, people trying to live and you look around them and all you see is death. there, an empty plastic garuda peanuts wrapper glazed in rain water like a bright yellow accidental donut, a broken bicycle wheel with the tyre still on it though a section is peeling off like a band-aid on its second day, the rain's made the black rubber shine like a leather patch on your elbow, right on the sharp angle where someone had tried to make a square out of the shiny circle of the wheel it looks exactly like that, then there is always the puddles of water like temporary lakes that reflect the big city lights like a prostitute's polished nails and the bigger one that will stand the test of time and the evening's heat and greet tomorrow's sun like the mirror in your bathroom. death. death. death. and life inside and between the spaces inside and around the letters. as i walked on i kept thinking, "someone should give these people a break," then i saw them, two blind men swinging their white canes over me on the busway ramp. they walked closely together, as if happy for the audio support when the canes hit the metal railings and for the jolt that must run up their arms when the canes hit each other in mid air. and then i knew, there will be no break in the cruel play of life for these people.