Mesti kadang kamu semua tertanya tanya tentang maisarah dalam kehidupan orang lain.
No, I don’t in the most accurate sense of the word, participate.
Petang semalam mereka mereka selepas kelas terus pergi photo shoot untuk salam perantuan. Di sebuah lapangan di taman, terletakknya sebuah kerusi, dan kamu para perempuan, patiently menunggu orang orang yang muncul secara gradual dari pelbagai, memakai baju raya yang indah indah, memecah harmoni hijau-biru kawasan itu. Bukan sebagai satu invasion, tetapi mungkin sebagai satu interruption.
These people, all of them blend into the background, one with high arched heels, painted face, strutting their curves here and there, laughing insensibly , and the boys ,- boys- how boring have they become in your eyes – all in their fleeting laughter – that seem to hold ni weight in any respect – you look upon them in the same way you used to look at the world six years ago,- apathetically.
Of course, there is only one exception to this but he is not there. A good question! Where is he? Not one knows, he is far removed from the group, ostracized as it were by his own will, a will , a purpose that is different from all the undifferentiated masses of masculinity around him. Soon he shall be unreachable, cut off, completely. But that is our destiny, we can only carry on without any bitterness in our hearts.
But his is more noble than yours.
Let’s talk about the one. For the whole day yesterday, all I could think about was the first lines of Rilke’s poem which, ah, I shall copy shortly.
*
You who never arrived
In my arms, Beloved, who were lost
From the start
I don’t even know what songs
Would please you. I have given up trying
To recognize you un the surging wave of the next
Moment. All the immense
Images in me – far off, deeply felt landscape,
Cities, towers, bridges and un-
Suspected turns in the path,
And those powerful lands that were once
Pulsing with the life of the gods –
All rise within me to mean
You, who forever elude me.
You, Beloved, who are all
The gardens I have ever gazed at,
Longing. An open window
in a country house – , and you almost
Stepped our, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced upon, –
You had just walked down a then and vanished.
And sometimes in a shop, the mirrors
Were sill dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back
My too sudden image. Who knows? Perhaps the same
Bird echoed through both of us
Yesterday, separate, in the evening …
*
Love, is a fickle thing (but he could be talking about muse, or God), and even more so marriage. And I in my inadequacy should never dream (yet) of such a divine institution. *sigh*.
(We could talk of evolution or Rilke or work or books but I remain, in my longing, foreign, forever separate from you.)
perkaraperkara 