ONE - SIDED

I wants you to remember that one of the greatest illusions is the search for pleasure without pain, praise without reprimand, or nice without mean . . .

Ironically it is in looking for those illusive one-sided events in a two-sided universe that many experience so-called suffering.

Sometimes I wonder why we have to endure the things we do, the problems, the pain, the betrayal, the deceit of others when all we are striving to be is a 'decent' human being. Remember that although you may not realise it, you are an example to others and if your example of a decent human being inspires just one person to not cause harm, to not hurt another, to look at their own lives with open eyes and consider change then this is a good thing. All too often we cry 'enough' and ponder that the next straw will be the one to break the camels back.

　
When we embrace the balance and the truth, love surrounds us.
When we understand this truth, our fears and guilt can evaporate,
and we can begin to dance with our life.


 

THE PALM TREE

Walk with me into the depths of the night, gently
place your hand in mine, our fingers interlocking, two
twin souls slowly becoming one, bound by love.

I feel the heat from these burning embers.
A melodic glow from day resonates through the torn
asunder haze of this balmy december rain.

We have become something so vascular in nature,
yet so delicate. The fabric of this tryst has become a blood
ridden thing. A fleshy laceration, flapping in the wind.

I know these warm humid streets we walk too well. What
lies ahead is nothing by nightmares entombed in cryptic
words, built on a blue-collar workers sweaty spin.

 

If the first act was when we met, then when you left
must have been two - “I love you” - was just a lie, with no doubt
to burden my mind, I’d rather live a lie, than without you.

I am but a woman, I am composed of my limitations, the
rest is only animated imitations, but as long as I’ve the light of
the moon to guide my eyes, I will always see you -
as a strong plam tree.

You are no mere a man, you are something more. Every
soul has a counterpart, please stand inside mine, the radiant color
of your eyes amplifies my undying love in between my sighs

 

 

 

PARFUM EXOTIQUE

Quand, les deux yeux fermés, en un soir chaud d’automne,
Je respire l’odeur de ton sein chaleureux,
Je vois se dérouler des rivages heureux
Qu’éblouissent les feux d’un soleil monotone ;
Une île paresseuse où la nature donne
Des arbres singuliers et des fruits savoureux ;
Des hommes dont le corps est mince et vigoureux,
Et des femmes dont l’œil par sa franchise étonne.
Guidé par ton odeur vers de charmants climats,
Je vois un port rempli de voiles et de mâts
Encore tout fatigués par la vague marine,
Pendant que le parfum des verts tamariniers,
Qui circule dans l’air et m’enfle la narine,
Se mêle dans mon âme au chant des mariniers.


When, both eyes closed, on a hot autumn night,
I breathe in the fragrance of your welcoming heart,
I see happy shores spread out before me,
Blazing in the fire or a monotonous sun;
A lazy isle to which nature has given
Lonely trees, savory fruits,
Men whose bodies are slender and vigorous,
And women in whose eyes shines a surprising candor.
Guided by your fragrance to these charming moods,
I see a port filled with sails and masts
Still tired by the waves of the sea,
While the perfume of the green tamarinds,
That flows through the air, and fills my nose,
Mingles in my soul to the sailors' song.

GREEN BUTTERFLY

I would like to be
the green butterflies you notice
out the corner of your eye
as faraway a drama teacher studies the beauty in your frown,

I would like to be the memory of
watching  the children you once
played hopskotch with
now re-enacting shakespeare and cobain in
rainy carparks as though the two went together,
to be that common and unthought of at the time
yet somehow part of the backdrop
to when you were at your most carefree
like white tigers passing school gates,
like black butterflies
in a jar of honey or
the corners of photographs　　　
that slipped between burnt thumb and forefinger,
the rest gone to ashes

he thinks what he cannot say, he isn't a poet
all his thoughts turn on a burning rotisserie
but he imagines a trapeze girl tossing a ribboned hoop
over a lion and twilight trying to
find its way through spaces between odd
shaped temples dooms;
all of this in a flick of your hair,
and then that
nirvana tattoo under your December eyes,

I would be inked there forever if I could
while the rain went on dragging the mascara down
mybuttefly white cheeks
like shadow puppets on Chinese lantern paper
you still always smile when it rains
you saw three stars on the sky
it is the tear that will never make its way to your lips,
the salt of someones desire you will never taste.

you carry it with you, and  you only think of it
when you see green butterflies
I'm not sure how the two go together,
its a long distance thing,
a marriage so liquid and ribbon like,
forever breeze and moment caught　
that there is no way it will ever solidify
there  is always thepromise of watching
the sunrise from the rooftop  of the blue seafront house
where you grew up
waiting for dandelions to grow one month out
of the year on the way to school so that　you could get all your wishes
in at once before Christmas

it is something I will never do without you there.　
still, ill fall  asleep sometimes
not at the beach but on the docks
and  listen  to the water, not quite the sea where you  are
but a sea inside when I close my eyes and
think of all the gr bueen tterflies flittering over
its dark silks
reminded of how i would listen to you fall asleep
from across the lines
your smile is a postcard, an empty bench on the pier.
if　you were hear i would watch you sleep in the  same way i watched　
the trees from my window where

I was kept  secluded as a child a thousand  miles from home
not with sadness but longing, not with  love  but wanting
wanting you to know that there is something more than love
will ever be, a conversation  that goes so deep  into  the night
insomnia and adrenaline sets in, and longing becomes so caught up
in itself, in telephone lines and sighs and good byes
so drawn out they have bled into the morning
more stark than Arthur fellig photography and December suicides.
I remember being so tired at work, the thought of you
still clutching my chest

I didn't even feel the  anxiety and the trauma set in,
you kept life at bay and promised to take me away
while I went on breathing nostalgia and clementine
until the days I started to collapse
breathing  the thought of you but never getting close enough
to feel your breath, the thought of your hands　
in gloves  and the polka dot scarf that somehow matched your eyes
stir in the sky, along the course of migrating birds,while the sky　　　
caves in, and  pulls in the city with it
that you almost don't notice you have moved
nauseating, living　
to go on living after coming close to so much beauty
condensed to a single black tear,
all my universe in a parallel life;
its singularity the weight of all oceans
just above your cheek
where your smile is the  last thing to shatter me completely





 

THE PLASTIC WARS

Untreated medical wastes are drained into the sea

Globalization is often touted as the solve it all solution of the problems this world faces today. However there are several very highly toxic effects of globalization as well. For instance these seemingly dissipating borders means that the western world has been and even now is engaged in dumping its plastic and medical waste to third world countries. They are able to do so as there is a lack of whistle blowing as well as checks and balances in countries like Pakistan, Indonesia which has been subjected to dumping for the last 30 odd years.

On my visit to Semarang two days ago I along with some other media friends of mine took a drive down to Banyumanik which is the scrapyard heaven in Semarang. I see crushed plastic, piles of medical waste, IV tubes and infusion bags lying on the ground in warehouse and people coming to buy them, I caught hold of one of the kids who works there, to my utter shock he tells me that local manufacturers who make plastic products even down to utensils come and buy this scrap to reuse!

One begins to wonder, how are Indonesian’s authorities allowing this dumping of hazardous materials on our soil? The case though is a multilayered one with many of these materials being passed off and misdeclared in our customs under "plastic scrap" and other categories to be cleared and sold off by importers. What they cannot sell off they dispose, so they are hand in hand with the whole process. Many of our hospitals too are often found disposing medical waste in their own backyards or adjacent rubbish heaps, to the extent that several unborn fetuses have been routinely popping up all over Indonesia in waste heaps.

　
Although a strengthening and overhaul of customs law as well as more diligence on control of such imports will prove useful. It is of utmost importance that local communities get involved in keeping our country clean of such products. For this purpose reporting such waste piles are key, too long have we been exposed to harmful diseases due to lack of vigilance. The effort will require us to not drive past burning heaps of open air rubbish in our city and stop to ask why and who is exposing us to these hazardous materials. More can also be achieved by organizing community cleaning drives and not restricting them to beach fronts.

Only if we ourselves show care for the environment around us can we effect change in keeping it safe and livable here in my country, Indonesia.