nuha ibnu rusyd

Jumat, 24 Juni 2011

PUISI

Siapa Aku

Malam melesak menuju pagi,
menyeberangi lautan fajar yang masih redup.
membentangkan sayapsayap salju.
untuk meraih kesejukan yang tak berujung.

aku masih tersaruksaruk
dalam terangnya siang
kumasih mencari jiwaku yang bertebaran,
aku tak pernah menggadaikannya.
hanya saja, semuanya telah dicuri saat kuterlena
aku butuh seorang seperti "syauran"

bantu aku?
dekap aku, dalam hangatnya telapak tanganmu
lebur aku pada malam yang tak berbintang.
potong hatiku yang berbenalu,
bakar jika perlu.
hanya itu yang tak kubutuhkan

siapa aku?
mengenal pun tidak.
di mana hatiku berada?
pernahkah dia memancangkan talinya,
pada pasak kakiku yang rapuh?

aku hanya tahu dirimu,
bukan aku.

Sabtu, 23 April 2011

poetry (02)

era

blazing sun sting
blind eye that is looking for happiness
transmit the incredible fatigue
to always be looked down listless
and ignore the joy of the world

misery
fatigue rampant
gnaw holes backbone
destroyed, crushed and displaced

Sabtu, 12 Maret 2011

poetry

Broken-hearted

This heartbreak.
This heart, it's broken.
It's broken.
Anyway, this heart.
Because of this, my heart.

This heartbreak,
This is indeed a broken heart.
Broken, because of love.

My heart is broken.
My love is wrong.
Barbie restless.
My longing to lose.
My eyes were wet.
Lost already.
Everything!

Jumat, 11 Maret 2011

cerita singkat

Tempe Rice

"Son, come on. Let’s eat, "you persuade me to eat after a day of restraint.
"I do not want, the mother did not enjoy cooking. always tempe rice! "I said irritably. I pressed my head on the pillow.
"But boy, we should be grateful because it could break. Let's see people, "not finished yet you say, I cut with my anger.
"Never mind! Is not no good mother say that "I shouted angrily as he slammed the pillow and ran away.
Last I looked. I saw you crying while calling out my name. Asked me to come back, but I ignored.
The atmosphere of the dark. Adzan maghrib had vanished. Now I walk alone in the middle of cassava garden. I remember my teacher teachings, that the first person to be respected is the mother, even had three times greater respect than the father.
Not felt, melt my tears. I cursed myself for disobey. I ran top of my voice. At home, I knelt in front of you, kissed your hands until your hands wet with sweat tears. Thousands of apology said. You hugged me warmly.
"Sorry mom, I've been blinded by your sacrifice" I sobbed in the arms of you.
"Never mind, everything is mother forgive" you replied meaningfully.
You took Iftar. Feed me a bite for a bite. Oh mother. Now, tempe feels good in the season a sincere smile, forever always delicious. I do not want to make you cry again.