I would sometimes retreat to the rooftop to
look down. the city is filled with fevered lights
its people turning into sculpture candles
feigned, stiffed and easily melted
there are no oceans in the city, but
there is always a turbulence in our chests
the unceasing burst of rolling waves
looking for shores, looking for peace
the night weather is gently blowing
a gust of blue breeze from another continent.
what is in the chest of sky:
our hopes disguising itself into stars
the sun sleeping soundly beneath the brink of night
the barren moon learning to put on a mantel
we talked about the rain that didn’t fall
(the eight o’clock weather forecast was a joke)
the day afterwards soon
plagued to a tragedy.
ever so often will we be able to
shut the data and open our chest
tethering words and read the cities
tomorrow will stretch the sky in blue
white clouds will grow beneath the depths of it anew.
once in a while we have to learn to love the sky
because loving human is far too complex.
(and loneliness flourishes once more)
Nokturna, 2018
Penerbitan Kata-Pilar
translated by Rasyidah Othman
