I was confused tonight, for some reason my eyes were hard to close, even though it's 3 in the morning. I have just stared at my deafening boarding house in silence, while occasionally looking at the pale white wall that stood firm.
I turned to the other side of the room. To relieve my fatigue I went out of the room for relaxation. I went out through the living room, there I found a chair and table lying silent. If only they could talk, they would sue the owner for not being treated like a tyrant.
I looked back. I've been boarding in this crowded place for two years, even though it's a bit far from campus civilization, but I have a reason that I don't want my privacy to be disturbed by anyone without exception. If anyone needs it, just come to my boarding house.
Even though it is not suitable to live in, sometimes I am quite comfortable with the private conditions of my study. Mother, boarding house father and their children do live with me, but they can respect my privacy as a student.
I don't have to think about eating out, the food ration is a plus for me, all of that includes my boarding facilities and I just have to pay one hundred and thirty-five thousand rupiah per month, even though my room is only 4 X 4 meters.
It is this quiet place that creates its own image so that I can galvanize myself with scientific substance. In every spare time I always swallow books by monumental world writers, from philosophers of language to writers at home and abroad.
The atmosphere was very quiet, the only sound was the whimper of the rambutan tree branches in the wind.
I left the house while leaning on the bamboo hall where I usually read a book at night.
Why am I like this, what happened to me, I asked myself.
I went back to my room and took out a piece of paper and a pen. As is my habit when I am restless and reflecting I always write poetry, maybe poetry is a part of my life and poetry is a diary for me. It's as if the pen follows the strains of my hand and the paper wants to compromise to be used as a medium.
I didn't realize what I had written, I tucked the paper in my desk drawer. Maybe because the fatigue that bubbled up in my mind made it a form of poetry abstraction. While preparing the material for tomorrow's literary discussion.
Sometimes it's strange, it's like I'm thrown into an atmosphere where writers speak through their writings. No doubt if their work is good, ideas, recounts, fiction or any kind, it's easy for me to sometimes be sublimated to agree and believe in what they write without having to chew deeper on what they want. Plato, Aristotle, Ferdinand De Sausure, Deridda, William Blake, William Shakespeare, William Blake, George Orwell, Gabriel Garcia Marques, Khalil Gibran, Rabindranath Tagore, Edgar Alan Poe, Jalaludin Rumi and other world famous philosophers, Poets, or writers.
It was Edi Benkidz that used to call it because he was a student who was concerned with exploring texts in depth—'Great Canonist' I called him because he was my old colleague because of him always could say motivated me to study more deeply about the text. Sometimes I have to go to The National Library, whenever there are specific words that are not in the dictionaries circulating in general, sometimes I cheat too, have to look for these words by visiting a fairly well-known bookstore in the early 2000s phase. The Thesaurus was indeed the most complete dictionary at that time, the price was quite fantastic at that time, namely in the range of 3 million rupiah, a number that was quite fantastic for me, a student who was not well off, clearly different from today's googling, 'Everything is going to be fine'. He is also my student and partner in studying the spirit of the text, which always has a different discussion every 2 weeks.
'Calm down Card*, the problem of photocopying the money my parents gave me is very abundant, you don't have to think about your lunch ration, you don't have to care. It has become my responsibility, ' he always said when he brought a new book from his lecture at the Driyakara Philosophy College and it was always given to me free of charge.
It's a completely different phase and time. But honestly I really miss his existence. My friend that one is indeed extraordinary. Unfortunately, it is the distance that separates us as we say in our hearts when we will hold the study again together with classical texts.
I'll miss you, my friend. Bang Edi Benkidz
*he always calls me by the name Icard
Jakarta, January 17th,2022
©Ayatullah Nurjati. PoemHunter.com
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem