Light plates embroider night. Night hoods include a floating moon. I hesitate in the dawn I always cupped. I just always miss the night. Yes … night. Night always keeps me in the snoring of the past. The past that bring me upheld my origins as the Sakai people. People who are often characterized as an alienated group living in the forest. But as time goes by, the beautiful nature where we take refuge is becoming extinct. Areas that had been forests, developed into petroleum industrial areas, forestry enterprises, rubber and oil palm plantations. With my origin, I used to be called Kai. The last syllable of the name of my tribe. My madness at night made me count as the person who was supposed to be in a time lapse. I do not understand why it was given to me. What is clear every dawn that I should have greeted with fullness has made me tired and congested. The pillars of the sky at dawn like the exchange of cool breeze with the air in the chaff.
I always wait for hundreds of dusk to paddle on the night’s row. Enjoy the sensation of the night that settles in a cloud of dew. The night stands I enjoyed with a tangled time. Time that was green and the heavy prohibited forest. The forests were always kept indigenously for the balance of nature. My forest was a pulse that invited magical and meaningful elements to my life. Sialang forests, Kapur, Labuai, and forest fruits in the watershed and may not to be harassed and cut down, now leave only damp forests and time dust along with the palm-lush. Palm … a foreign plant that I had never known before and is now a symbol of my limitation and whoever.
I miss the rosin, rattan, lebuai gum, sweet potatoes and mushrooms I usually pick. It’s hard again for me to play in the land of inflammation, the jungle of sialang, and the jungle of the forest savings. At night I used to dance with the moon with the olang-olang dance. Move slowly, squat and occasionally rotate following the beat of the rhythm that results from the sound of bebano drums and tetawak (gong). A plate of rain danced with the wind. I move my stiff fingers into night density. That was when the night so kindly smothered me. Now I can only look at umah (house). Houses that have been fragile and more fragile by the bark of the trees. Crickets add to the lonely pinch. A silence did not sing the lonely hide of amber, rattan, and rubber. The jungle had been unreadable on the wind that silenced the night. A shadow of darkness concentrates on the black.
For me the night is not yet complete if the moon has not milled the clouds. The moon stammered the rocks. The moon becomes a lantern of pleasure. I brought my hand to receive the beautiful glow of light. Hush of charm is accommodated at night. I have a night ray that I can’t afford in the afternoon. Unsupported night with a foggy sauna. Night fingers tucked behind the nepung bust. The tree is considered a symbol of the spirit of community unity and brotherhood. In the afternoon … ahhh I always wanted to run. The footpaths I used to see with the weeds were now deafening. The passing of the factory vehicle made me dizzy. Collapse. There’s always a fuss every afternoon light greets me. Sometimes hysterical shouts come out of my silent mouth. I do not care what kind of man I am.
I was not concerned with the name of a bat man who has been attached to me. Sleep in the daytime and wandering direction at night. My habit of enjoying the evening was followed by other children who made me the leader to play around in the night. The moon scar touches in my soul. The forest’s gaze was dripping with rain on the restless stones. A piece of soil withering away the moon. I picked up the light between the Serindit babbling. Frisky, agile birds roamed the trees. Forest verses cleave the sky. The rain ropes pierced the well of silence. River rafting foul due to splashes of waste.
My habits like bat man makes me suspect to have been entered by gnomes ghose so that they have to do Seven Longkap Pokao treatment. The knick-knacks in bomo who treated me shook my head if I did not have any disease problem. As I said before, I was only engaged in the loneliness of the tired lush.
The night cliffs embroider the light. My little village is just a few plots that we make as shelter. The morning chirping that always creeps up the rainbow calligraphy painting on the rainstorms is difficult now I hear. The night’s twig slams the moon and pierces the drought. A barren wasteland. The peace we had enjoyed so freely and as far as we can walk now is only a few plots of land we plant. Poisoned potatoes are very delicious when we are processing it. My village is called Pinggir. I do not understand why it’s called as baseboards. Probably because it is on the outskirts of the highway. Or maybe just because we are considered as marginal people. I do not know what that’s not important to me.
Dawn buzzes green with all the words. My edge is now eroded. The perfect spill of sun refers to me. The forest that became my tone is now muzzled with a chansaw machine. Changed with palm oil fields. I just got sideways just watching the iron fences protect the vast palm plantation. A palm plant that leaves waste remains and smells of pungent odor. The usual place I run to dance the olang-olang dance has now turned into a palm field that I can not trample the ground again. The wrinkled shrivel served withered. Menggalo that many in it now tercerabut I can not enjoy. A piece of the night casting an owl. Fireflies crying night brought to the base of the sentence. But a leaf affirms my firmness. Earth’s steadfastness is invincible even though the fields have dry our memories.
The bruised forest darkens the moon. The female month picks up the stars. A night with a pale moon took me to the river bank. The spoon was gulping the full moon that was breathing the dream. The raucous crooked seduces the moon on an ambiguous black cloud. Fireflies welcome thickly. I enjoy with Lukah to look fish that I can eat. Tapa fish, baung fish, grab fish, shadow fish have stayed away only the soil fish stay. Although fish are sometimes reluctant to stop at my Lukah, but at least I can stay with the night. The crickets drowned me deep in my ignorance. The wind kneels at the persuasion of the night. The blue winds lie quietly on the deck of the sky. The stars were extinguished with a spooky cloud. The span of light stretches a full moon on my creek. The splash of water was as soft as the fog that bogged the night.
The dusk faded with the wind. Dusk night. The dusk left behind ran between the winds. At the end of a steep, desolate night to fidget. Vengeful night brings a dark boat. The night falls on the jungle. Anxious shrubs on the eyes of the moon. The shadow of the morning body danced the branches of the wind. But somehow when this eye was trying to darken itself from dawn after enjoying the night, the noise I heard shouts.
“Get in, all !!!” The heavy voices of the army along with the firearms made us unable to do anything.
Night tattered wounded. Women’s voices are crying and the screams of men indulge in emotion. I was just dragged along the dawn to be led into a truck carrying us by force. The truck splits through the foliage that cries and waves like do not want to lose me. A chilly morning ambushed the darkness. A morning has thrown the fog. The grass forgot how to make love because the wind was injured.
The natural jungle increasingly disobedient to the damp sheath. The greedy wind has turned the barren sky. I and society were forced to descend on the edge of a paved road with a pile of muddy and desolate red ground mounds from the crowd. Even the noise of the sky was the light of the sun on the edge of a rubber forest. A slice of the day is embedded in the bottom of the ban. Afternoon was silent on the shaky rubber leaves.
“Get down here. Such a worthy place of you! Kai!!! Get off you!!”
The sun broke on the silent streets. The silent petals tore through the light bias. I do not understand this expulsion. I just got a piece of explanation if a piece of forest that we have will be used as a palm oil modern processing plant. I remember the tribal leaders balked at the plan. But power and money have other case. We were forced down. I just stared at the unusual stretch of red earth I was staring at. I greet the night giddily. The night passes through its saturation point. The usual night of being friends with its beauty is now torturing me. No more fog catching the halimun down. Pale weather rushed full moon. I chose the wind in the dust of the day adrift.
I could no longer find the pleasure of the night. Night niche has wrap the fog. Brittle night flushed darkly. A jealous night anchored a dark boat on my violent chest. The dawn that I was burning even more burned my inner side. I do not know what drives me to scream. As strong as I can. I lost the night. Trained to persuade the dark on the backs of dry civilization. Daytime sadness accelerates dark. The blistering wings are transformed by the wind. No more bad nights tore the sheets of the wind. The whisper of the wind hugged darkly. I kept screaming and running and running as hard as I could. I drifted deeper into the deepest ravine. Soil pushed me away from everything in the dark of night.
Bambang Kariyawan Ys., a teacher. WA:08117595971.