Dreamless Days (9)

I wake up every morning grasping a sword
in disbelief at the absence of war
while each of us battles still
against the unforgiving-jagged city
soldiers of glass and stone

my right footstep is water, my left is fire
dissolve in dissolving, cease in ceasing
yesterday has been burnt to ashes
we can no longer seize and gather again
seconds at odds, seconds before it’s too late
flown by the wind

sometimes I find a stain on my clothes
that ash – dissolving into poetry
the eyes go tearful as it enters
the water in the glass turns opaque, murky at its bottom
alike my head these days: scattered grey.

Nokturna, 2018
Penerbitan Kata-Pilar

translated by Rasyidah Othman

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