There once was a man with a bomb, who kept it under his wedlock mattress. How he got the bomb, no one knows. Not even him. All he knew it was there and he could hear its incessant ticking each night before he slept, if he slept at all.

The man only saw the bomb once, so in his head the wires, that he imagined were on the bomb, would change colours, be in different connections and sometimes, there were no wires at all. This made him terrified. Who wouldn’t be?

He kept the terror to himself, and in his eyes it showed. He could not look at his wife, his daughter, his parents, his boss, his colleagues, nor his own reflection. For fear of the bomb he forgot his own face.

The ticking continued. Steady and monotonous. A lullabye that sunk so deep into his subconcious that it let slip a glance to the bus driver he was used to seeing every morning. He saw it then. The bomb. It was in the fleeting gaze of the bus driver’s eyes. It was in the eyes of the child lugging his school bag home. It was in the eyes of the minister on a cut away billboard. Soon everyone had a bomb, for no one looked at each other.

The man tried to remember the bomb again. In his head going through how he had left it under his bed. Recalling how the sheets carassed the back of his hand. How the metal frame rang awkwardly as the edges of the bomb stumbled on it.

He began doubting that there was indeed bomb under his bed. Carefully, he pressed his ear onto his mattress, but the nearer he went, the fainter the ticking. His ear was burning. The man continued to hope that the bomb was really there…

Once upon a time, there was a woman who had a woven basket. She clung tightly to the basket, afraid that if she let it go, her palm would have more lines than it should. With a firm grip she would live a day and the woman even tied the basket to her hand before she slept at night.

What is more fascinating than her basket is what it cradles. See the woman goes around the fields to pluck dried leaves, brittle twigs, wilted flowers, and occasionally rotten fruits that were within her reach; climbing a tree is difficult with a basket in one hand.

Walk around she did, with her basket full. The heavier it was, the stronger she grasped. First to the forest, then to the river, and all the way upstream. When it was hot, she would stop to take a sip of water. When it was raining, she would keep a distance from the riverbank. She never knew exactly when to stop. She just knew. She just knew when it was time to stop.

The woman would dip her free hand in the river, cleaning it from dirt before she dug a hole forty footsteps away from the riverbank. She dug with her palms first, forcing her wrist onto the earth and only used her fingers to move the loose soil to the side. She never knew exactly when to stop. She just knew. She just knew when the hole was big enough.

Gingerly placing the contents of her basket into the freshly dug hole, she would then hum a tune; a lullabye, which she had no recollection off. She never knew exactly when to stop. She just knew. She just knew when it was time to cover the hole that was once earth.

and that is the woman and her basket.

Kalau sampai waktuku
‘Ku mau tak seorang kan merayu
Tidak juga kau

Tak perlu sedu sedan itu
Aku ini binatang jalang
Dari kumpulannya terbuang
Biar peluru menembus kulitku

Aku tetap meradang menerjang
Luka dan bisa kubawa berlari
Berlari
Hingga hilang pedih peri

Dan aku akan lebih tidak perduli
Aku mau hidup seribu tahun lagi

- Chairil Anwar

Anwar is 8 years old and was born without the gift of sight.
He ‘sees’ the world through his fingers.
One night, aftering hearing about a moth’s characteristics, he, who still has his doubts, decides that he will catch the elusive winged insect so as to prove the existence of things that are as difficult to touch. Things such as the sky, moon, clouds, love and et cetera.
This is Anwar’s story and his desire to see and believe.

Juara

kupu-kupu terbang dalam timangan malam
dan bulan mengintai dari belakang awan
tiba-tiba angin dingin hinggap mengancam
hujan pula tersungkur mencari tadahan

kononnya hujan rintihan langit yang suram
angin dilahirkan dari gurindam bulan
baginya tidak berbeza siang dan malam
yang tidak mampu singgah genggaman

jendela dibuka bagai mengundang alam
lilin dinyala bagai suatu jemputan
tinggal tenangkan keraguan yang terpendam
tunggu sayap pari-pari tersentuh tangan

Yengki

walau api pinjam seri
hanya haba yang terperi
walau luas muka bumi
hanya kecil batas jari


Kelantan

tunggu tamu dari jauh
ikut lampu cari teduh
jaga lilin, duduk simpuh
lama-lama lengan lengguh

dari sayap debu jatuh
keraguan mula sembuh
dalam tatang dia sentuh
dapat bayang satu tubuh

Pattani

dapat tangkap

dapat tangkap?

tunggu sekejap…
Ahh terhempap!
sabar, mengucap! mengucap!
lain kali kalau nak merangkap
jangan tepuk, tekap!

sesungguhnya kita semua ini kurang lengkap
sentiasa mencari ilmu, meraba dalam gelap
nah, kalau si buta boleh terbunuh yang bersayap
apalagi kita yang bermata cekap?

dapat tangkap?

Matang

alangkah indahnya jika buta seketika
dan tangan dua akan jadi panduan kita

malangkah andai kita tak kenal warna
kulit sama, hanya lain pada rasa

selangkah menuju aman sentosa
kerana dunia dalam tangan kita

Penutup

Kupu-kupu terbang tinggi
jangan lupa singgah ke bumi

sampai sini persembahan dari kami
silap-salah harap tidak simpan di hati

bubor oh bubor,
kenapa engkau sedap?

macam mana aku tak sedap
bila dicampur kicap?

kicap oh kicap
kenapa engkau masuk campur?

macam mana aku tak masuk campur
kacang goreng tawar sangat

kacang oh kacang
kenapa engkau tawar?

macam mana aku tak tawar
ikan bilis kan sudah masin

ikan bilis oh ikan bilis
kenapa engkau masin?

macam mana aku tak masin
banyak garam dalam laut

laut oh laut
kenapa banyak garam?

macam mana tak banyak garam
hujan sibuk basahkan bumi

hujan oh hujan
kenapa engkau sibuk?

macam mana aku tak sibuk
padi asyik melambai-lambai

padi oh padi
kenapa engkau melambai?

macam mana aku tak lambai
beras tak sabar jatuh

beras oh beras
kenapa engkau tak sabar?

macam mana aku tak sabar
ada orang nak makan bubor

ada orang nak makan bubor

in every man is God, for he is everything that inspires. Even the boring ones…

so I’m weaker than the average person,
but I’m still alive…

grant the strength to be weak again..

And do not speak to the people with your face turned away, nor walk proudly on the earth, for Allah does not love any self-conceited, boastful person