a man has left the house this morning
leaving the door ajar,
the thief is still trying to get through the window.
the night has fallen
but the city never sleeps, dreams
or approaches the bed, in the streets I stumbled upon
starving people. what is more wretched:
becoming meat and walking there
or becoming a seeded dream that never thrives
in anyone’s head?
I know you are among them
each seeking for that endless burrow
so as to fall slumber soundly inside it
it is too arduous to be an exile.
without a map everyone is searching
an eloquent absence
we are left confounded
to give its name
it is raining again and you can never come home.
Nokturna, 2018
Penerbitan Kata-Pilar
translated by Rasyidah Othman
