THE OLD SMOKE

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i have no memories
to start a conversation
there were only thrills that grew
while the chances had begun to paralyse

they say silence means yes
but you’re not asking any questions
except about the wind, except about others
i don’t have the answers

i still often hang about the kitchen
pretending to cook yet sobbing
only because we were not talking
as if we were a couple of burdens, as we are now

they say if you love you remember everything
every kiss which if discussed
would wound the meaning of ‘ex-lover’
while being kept would turn into bruises

the night has stopped by, “another cigarette,” you said
a fire squeezed my hand, twice
i thought time was up, although time
has nothing to do with my heart

yogyakarta-dorset, 2014

ASAP LAMA

(click here for the english version)

aku tak punya kenangan
untuk membuka percakapan
hanya ada bungah yang terus tumbuh
sementara kesempatan sudah mulai lumpuh

kata orang kalau diam saja berarti iya
tapi kamu tidak bertanya tentang apa-apa
selain angin, selain orang-orang lain
aku tak punya jawabannya

aku masih sering berdiri di dapur
pura-pura memasak tapi mengisak
hanya karena kita diam-diaman
seperti sepasang beban, seperti sekarang

kata orang kalau cinta ingat semuanya
setiap ciuman yang kalau dibahas
akan melukai makna ‘mantan pacar’
sementara dipendam bakal jadi memar

malam sudah singgah, “serokokan,” katamu
ada api meremas tanganku, dua kali
kukira waktunya sudah habis, walaupun waktu
tak ada urusannya dengan hatiku

yogyakarta-dorset, 2014

FOR THE LOVE OF THE RAIN

  

believe me when i say it was miserable, but also believe me when i say i loved it. 

 i’m a mess. i love walking in the rain on my own. 

in my garden in indonesia i used to sit in the tropical rain, raining. that makes a painful view for the people who love me, but when they’ve loved me better they’d leave me alone. 

the rain is my sacred place since my childhood. there’s something about being alone with the rain that makes me so in touch with the exiled feelings inside me. 

those that do not suit the dry days reality, or the reality at all, or so it seems. 

those that make me alive, exist, brokenly whole. 

  

–dina oktaviani

ROADKILL

(klik di sini untuk versi bahasa indonesia)

a golden light through the farmer’s window
a song from the war as i pass under the abandoned railway bridge
a field of rape rising up from behind the young hedges
none of it touches me

i am breathing scars in my brain
my heart is useless
it is so worn out i can’t walk in it!

papa would you love me if i befriended your god;
and mama would you ask how i am if you were not dying?

there is no road kill from somerset to dorset tonight
but they’re all dead in tanjungkarang

the wind is waiting, i suppose
nothing am i fearing

dorset, 2013

THE FINAL WIND

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nobody knows how much i loved him
since the night i opened every door to my dreams

there was a space bigger than the sky in my heart
for him, forever became him, forever was him

i ran to catch him, i smelt his skin
knowing not when to stop or how

i took off all my clothes, i was naked before him
knowing not when he’d understand or give up

i made love to him, from skin to blood
i let him kiss my scars, he made me leave god

i was overjoyed with all the flowers and the strife
i used to smile and laugh until i cried

then i sat there in the garden, in the rain, raining
the wind changed for me, so i changed for it

he was blown away from my nerves
he was gone before we said good bye

the sand in the beach i want to forget
the letters at the door i have swept

nobody knows how much i loved him
nobody knows how i stopped–i can’t explain

yogyakarta, 2011