On the death bed of my father, I was but a toddler.
My face was wet with kisses; my ears were deafened with screeches.
I was clouded in the fog of fear, longing to get hold in the arms of my father.
“Your father has gone to meadows where fairies lives, to bring you flowers”
“but mother, I don’t want flowers”
“go to school, study and bring us good fate”
I was bewildered for a way back of father was taking forever.
I wanted to run, play hide and seek, eat good food, wear beautiful clothes but like a nomad I was made to travel.
“Uncle will take good care of you, stay there and obey whatever they.”
“I don’t like being there mother, please don’t make do this.”
My days passed, hearing complaints I never made.
I grew up like everybody else do, veiling my wishes, fighting my fears.
But how long can you hold a dam of water?
One day, someday, it is irresistible and goes on a way it is made for.
In a stream it flows.
In a cold of December, I was taken to jail and beaten, for a crime my heart hadn’t taken.
“Can I Murder?”
I was hanged upside down all day long all night long.my back was lashed, my skin was bruised
and blood flowing out of skin, frustrated as if it is betrayed by the veins of its own.
I was released but I feel caged.
I carry the Bubur’s wine and drink all night to pain the pain, hidden.
Patience i wore as a fabric is unwoven.
Draw a blade and cut me open. Pull my heart and throw it away for I can hold it no longer.
Now I feel rotten, to skin, to blood, to bones and to soul.
I decay and I stink. I am a dead leaf of an autumn.
Keep away, don’t come closer.
I don’t give a heed even if you are my own mother.