I can only trace time. Spinning among your valor. Together with my colony I hang all the time on your sturdy branches. Your reach height which can reach 88 meters makes me proud to be part of your strength. Beehive. The Johar-joharan tree made me happy, making a humming sound as a sign that I was comfortable living in it.
I, an Apis dorsata bee and my colony have enjoyed a very comfortable life in this forbidden forest. dancing and perching on the branches of Sialang which is surrounded by Randu trees, Sulur Batang, Rumah Kuncing, Cempedak Air. Enjoy the soft aroma of the morning sun. Capturing the gentle breeze before noon.
Accommodates the heat network when part of the sun. Welcoming dark silhouettes towards night. looking silently at the rows of its stems. Back to stroking the dew drops on the taro leaves on the edge of the lake. A daily cycle that I don’t want to let go of with Sialang my house.
However, there have been many sad stories lately about you and your siege which have fallen one by one. I’m used to seeing thickets of your siding standing firmly of various types of Kedundung, Batu, Kruing, Balau, and Ara. Now there is only one Kruing type dam left standing high. Supports the balance of swamps and hills. standing as if supporting the sky but I see sadness behind your strength, Fragile and about to collaps.
At one time me and my colony could still very easily stick to one nest of up to 150 nests. Imagine. We can joke between one nest and another. Now I can only hang with seven nests. Lonely and mute. The buzz of my friends that always graced this forbidden forest, is now just a silent hum.
I haven’t seen people hanging out in a long time. I miss being appreciated by humans for my natural work with my colony. My honey is taken in a very elegant way. hanging on the sturdy branches of Sialang. I remember when they tufted. I heard beautiful chanting notes with a rhythm that now I can only miss.
Popat-popat motherland
mai popat in tombang land
the lady-in-waiting was sleeping
Juagan Mudo at the base of the damn
the rhythm of the mantra that makes the night quiet shakes the night leaves. I still retain the detailed memory of every footstep that stepped on around 40 ground floor. The climbers stand strong, although sometimes it’s hard to see them climbing on fragile logs. a tufter that he carries with his grove while holding a shoot made of dry tree roots in the shape of a broom stick. The smoke from the tip of the shoot is what will chase me away politely so that I and my colony will move to another deciduous tree. Why do I call it polite? They don’t hurt. language excuses and humanizes us, makes me flattered and grateful for the way we go to another damn place. It’s a special pleasure for me to see gallons of honey harvested for millions of people to enjoy.
As the wind blows. as the leaves fall. As the lake water looks murky. This evening I heard boasting from people who were always walking around this lonely and silent area.
Soon we will no longer see this single-trunk damang tree. They consider this block to be blocking access to the road according to their plans. This area will be used as a water tourism spot. Every corner of this lake will be transformed with various games. Houses made from forest wood will be rented to overnight visitors. This Sialang tree will be cut down. We can no longer tuft to get the honey. “The rituals that have been traditional since our ancestors are gone.”
“What if we just cut it down? rather than those who cut down just being thrown away. Isn’t it possible for us to buy the latest brand of motor vehicle with one tree trunk?” It seems very greedy to talk about this damn exchange.
You greedy bastard! I cursed.
I realized that this one living bastard was the place on which my life and my colony depended. I still remember that time, when damns were still lined up on every corner. And there was the sound of class voices at that time, when I was hanging down after enjoying the juice of various flowers. At that time, the sound of the engine roared and broke the scorching heat. I heard a soft groan from where I was hanging. Falling to the earth, destroying the collection of honey that I had collected with my colony.
It hurt at that time. I didn’t have time to express my anger. Dissolve in the deepest sadness. I saw the corpses of my colony that had not had time to fly from the shock. A sliver of my brother’s death touched my heart which continued to bleed. The kilos of honey I collected shattered onto the ground. The scent of revenge clings to the flapping of my wings and the hum of my voice.
I hear that plans for logging the dam are getting more and more intense. Over and over again as the day of felling approaches. I, along with my colony, resurrected a lump of revenge that was clotted in the beak of my little wings for the past heartbreaking events. a plan that I built with my colony to save this only remaining Sialang. with the language of my heart I build a pile of grudges and plans based on instinct.
I gather my colony when the dark of night meets the half moon. Whispering in the language of instinct. A way for us to uncover arrogance. That twilight is a bloody twilight for those with greedy desires. When greedy people come with all their equipment to cut down the dam. the sound of a tree cutting machine could be heard from a distance. The loud engine noise I heard was the sound of hatred. Even really hate it. Bringing up old grudges.
A group of people appeared with greedy faces. When the machine was about to touch the stem of the dam, we attacked with all our strength trying to overthrow this dumb dam. We can get the most out of it as much as we can. In turn we witnessed merciless death. A merciless groan could be heard dying on the edge of death.
Dismissed!!!
Bambang Kariyawan Ys., a teacher. WA: 08117595971