.

There is a violence in my soul

         it pertains to my heart which longs

                and longs

.

What never fades is the red of the heart

             And you who are the red in mine

Refuge

If there was ever silence or distance in my part, it is either out of respect for another's consternation or merely a desperate act of self-preservation.

To lessen another's hurt or to lessen my own. When words maim, silence becomes a balm. When presence aches, absence becomes refuge. 

Or not.

And then one remembers, fa inni qaribun. There is no silence, no solitariness that is without Him who is the last refuge.

 

.

I long to walk upon land
    whose soil speaks only your name

.

Amidst silence, I carve away at my heart. Even the heart must learn from abstinence.

.

by the river
where the water spoke
I heard your name
       uttered as if a greeting
       a word used for summoning

like the earth
you are home-soil;
       natural, in abundance,
       rich with remembering
     
       you house the ground
       beneath my feet
     
       .

       when you go
       to whom will I answer?
     

Tribute

I write only for my own heart, and for that which reside in it. My audience and subject is one. Nothing else matters.

“Poets don’t have an ‘audience’: They’re talking to a single person all the time.”

                                 —Robert Graves

Tunggu

Nafas, nyawa,

jika dihitung setiap hela

                setiap detik

            setiap lembaran masa

yang kuukir dengan kata-kata

    buat mengisi sunyi;

mungkin kau sebagai cahaya 

     akan hampiri gelapku

                     sebagai hujan

              hapusi tandusku

                      sebagai ombak

              hancuri hausku

               

lantas keudara bersama angin biru

          kaupenuhi setiap ruangan

                   setiap gemaan

                setiap pintaan

      

  —yang setia

              dalam penuggunan.