1. Art Jog, Taman Budaya Yogyakarta 2011

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Art Jog 2011

Art Jog 2011

Art Jogja Juli 2011 Taman Budaya Yogyakarta

Art Jogja 2011

Art Jogja Juli 2011 Taman Budaya Yogyakarta

Art Jogja Juli 2011 Taman Budaya Yogyakarta

Art Jogja Juli 2011 Taman Budaya Yogyakarta

Art Jogja Juli 2011 Taman Budaya Yogyakarta

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Seni = Kau

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. Seni <=> Kau

Seni <=> Kau

Dulu ketika aku masih sendiri
seni selalu berhembus deras mengaliri hidupku
ia meniup jiwaku dari waktu ke waktu
mendorongku mencari wajah cinta yang belum kukenali
yang aku tidak tahu di mana dan sedang apa?

Ketika kutemukan cintaku,
ia merangkulku erat-erat menepis kesepian dan kesendirianan
saat itu sang seni hanya bagai angin semilir saja sesekali menerpaku
Ia memberiku kesempatan memetik buah kehidupan yang lama kucari
Aku dan kau lebih banyak berenang dalam cinta, kerja, cita-cita dan materi

Sekarang ketika sang Khalik meminta kembali cinta itu
Ia menitipkan seni menjadi hujan deras di tiap detikku
Tapi aku belum ingin mencari payung
sebagai cinta tempatku berteduh
karena
Kerinduanku masih utuh bagimu,
kekasih hatiku…

17 Juli 2011, I Miss You This Night in This Taman Budaya, seperti dulu lagi.
 
In Indonesian : Seni=Kau

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Luka Lainnya :

Protected :

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Art=You

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Art <=> You

When I was still alone at the past
the art always blow fast ended my life
It blow my soul from time to time
Pushed me up to look for a face of love that I hadn’t know
the one I didn’t know where and what she was doing?
When I found my love
she embraced me tightly push my loneliness and sadness away
at the moment an art was only like a breezy of wind once in a while punch me up
It gave me a chance to pick a fruit of life I looked for a long time
I and you had a lot of time to swim in love, work, destiny and material
Now when The creator ask the love back
He gives the art to become hard rain in every second of mine
But I have not looked for the umbrella as yet
as the love of my place to be shaded
because
my loneliness is still for you
the love of my heart

PiS, July 17 2011, I miss you this night in Taman Budaya, as in the past again

In Indonesian : Kau<=> Seni

Milas, Belajar Menyapa

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Dan tiba-tiba  aku sudah berada di sini lagi. Hatiku membawaku kesini di luar kesadaranku. Apakah kau sudah duduk di gazebo bambu di pojok itu? Seperti dulu lagi?

Suasana masih hening, tenang. Gazebo-gazebo bambu, perpustakaan, pernak-pernik, lampu-lampu redup, para pengunjung yang bicaranya berbisik-bisik, semua masih seperti dulu, persis ketika kita makan di gazebo pojok sebelah barat, selalu saat menjelang malam.

Beberapa pelayan mulai melirik, kurasa seseorang ada yang mulai mengenaliku. Aku tak tahu harus dengan bagaimana memulai menyapa. Bukan aku tak ingin menyapa. Tidak pula aku melupakan janjiku dulu padamu, bahwa aku harus belajar dan belajar menyapa dengan ramah kepada siapa saja. Berulang kali kau katakan itu. Tapi bagaimana aku belajar menyapa dengan baik jikalau guruku tidak berada di sisiku?

Baiklah, aku bersikap bodoh saja, mengalahkan logika yang selalu kuagung-agungkan, bahwa kau sudah duduk di sebelahku. Tapi tidakkah logis, bahwa kau memang ada di sini. Hatiku adalah Kau. Hati itu yang membawaku ke sini? Ya, kurasa kau ada di sini menemaniku sekedar memesan burger jagung yang kau suka itu. Aku juga suka burger itu, kurasa?

Sayup-sayup air mancur di tengah kolam berkecipak.  Tidak kubawa Mp3ku, jadi kita mulai menyimak  nyanyian   air mancur kecil yang berada di tengah kolam, dalam-dalam di hati kita. Gemericiknya, adalah suara yang kita berdua cintai, yang selalu kita cari setiap kita singgah di manapun. Di tengah alunan buaian, kupejamkan mataku, gemericik air mancur itu menyanyikanmu,
menyanyikan rambutmu yang lurus dan sedikit berombak,
menyanyikan bibir tipismu yang selalu ramah,
menyanyikan hatimu yang mulia,
menyanyikan jiwamu yang pemaaf,
menyanyikan matamu yang berbinar,
menyanyikan kasihmu yang tulus
menyanyikan kerinduanku dan kesepianku yang tak berbatas….

Pelayan itu datang dengan senyum manisnya, aku lupa apakah aku sudah membalas senyumnya atau aku diam saja menerima menu itu.  Entah kenapa, mungkin karena janjiku, aku jadi memikirkan cara belajar menyapa. Tapi hari ini sayangku, biarkan dulu semua itu terlupakan. Yang kutahu aku datang ke sini hanya ingin menyapamu. Itu saja.

Dan kasihku, di manakah kau? Bagaimana caranya, agar aku bisa sekedar menyapamu? Ajarilah aku, kasihku.

PiS,  Milas, 17 Juli 2001

From : www.Maryati.net

In English : Milas, Learn To Say Hello
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Luka Lainnya :

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Sang Waktu

Sang jalan bertanya pada sang waktu, “Siapa yang lebih panjang umurnya, sang waktu atau sang jalan?”

Sang waktu berkata, “Tidak ada yang lebih panjang dari sang waktu, waktu lebih dulu lahir daripada jalan.”

Jalan membantah, “Aku telah menelusuri seluruh jagad yang ada di dunia ini, aku ada dimanapun.”

Sang abadi menyela, “Jangan lupa denganku! Akulah yang paling berumur panjang. Aku abadi, meski semua telah musnah.”

Mereka akhirnya berperang tiada henti.

Sang pencipta bertanya, “Siapa yang mengaku abadi? Hanya akulah yang abadi, Aku-lah yang menciptakan jalan dan waktu!”

Sang Pencipta murka dan melenyapkan segalanya, termasuk ke abadian?

.

PiS 15 Juli 2011

In English : The Time

The Time

The street asks to the time, “Who has a long live age, the time or the street?”
The time says, “Nothing has a long live than the time, it was born earlier than the time.”
The street disagrees, “I has gone a long to the entire universe in the world, I am be anywhere.”
The eternal answers, “Don’t forget! I am the long live age. I am eternal, although everything has been extinct”

They finally make a war continually

The creator asks, “Who says be eternal?” Only me is eternal, I have created the time and street!”

The Creator is angry and destroys everything, including the eternal?

PiS July 15, 2011

Indonesian: Sang Waktu

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From Friends (Indonesian)

Kata teman-teman :

 

Twilight, Memories and You

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Senja, Kenangan dan AkuI sit alone as usual in the beach of Parangtritis while listening to MP3. My wife, her nieces and nephews, my daughter, playing happily with the waves which come occasionally. Sea as if to seduce, whisper something which make the sun more and more descend. Not feel twilight down slowly in the forehead, the sun dims, descend peep at reversed the grey cloudy, look into the mirror in the water sea on the side of beach between silhouette of people. More and more descend yellows the horizon, like a painting at canvas stretched that I feel want to catch in my fingers and I save in my pocket. The beautiful paintings God almighty is drown me in memories about long days that had elapsed.

At a glance, memories come like herd of seagulls which fly in my inner rice field. Now, I’m stuck on situation, I am not more than a peasant or even like a rice field doll who is tired to dispel all. Moment when asleep like this, my conscience is always help to remind me of a fair something. But how hard he? Especially this time twilight is more bring me skew to the sorrow memories than pleasure, as skew as the sun that begins to set, severity I exactly enjoy it, because I deny to my commitment that I got from the toarch of Gibran. Because not being able to, I let it dissolved the particle second by second, MP3 which contain many melancholic songs, I let it more and more carbonize burning a portion of my mind. I don’t know why I keep sitting alone here and let part of me fly to be mixed with stretch of excitement in front of my eyes. I should be aware I’ve spent minutes of excitement which lies just a few yards in front of me. How many times opportunities like that will be? But all ages to the same point : and the stream after twilight must be night. I can’t deny, I really I was carried away on a ripples between sorrow and beauty, and that is usually. It is difficult, It is not fair, but it is enjoyable to the heart of the deepest segment. Fall asleep, let me drift off a snap resignation. I often pray, in other to this character is not inherit to my daughter.

To me it need a long time to be the river continues to flow. Although I have reap of ages seeds in a big handfuls, I never get the wise face. Most of the human like me will keep learning that sheet by sheet day, sorrow or pleasure, if its have passed, it is a must may not more than be daily page that must more plentiful save in drawer that laying in the basement of life. Like people says that the memories are only something which must be left far behind our back. It may not be a burden of our shoulder and soul.

Until this second I am still learning to be a river which left the grass’ beauty, tree, little flowers, green hill and shrubs tunable. Leave the injury of sharp stones, glass break, pointy wood and sting of thorns. Moreover the people or animals steal most of them, as a drinking water or dirt washing, he and his soul keep believe with strong step to one aim. As sorrow as and as pleasure as whatever the road must passed by, she will never turn the head, moreover to comeback. She is more quiet, she will speak later when the time comes, Telling her journey to the sunsets. And we enjoy as waves. Voice which tells long journey experience.

I knot the rope’s line days in myself, that my happiness or sorrow memories before, today, this time, must be a speck of smile that be my sleep candle pass by the night waiting for light tomorrow morning. And if the sun shines, I save the candle, for the night comes. I realized, I may not let the memories flying, flatter those wings freely in my head. So as usual I take a paper and writing, those memories are only sparrows, funny birds although its little bit disturb. They can catched , then in jail by a pen on the papers. Not longer they will flew with their new wings : “ Blog or Web “ to the illusion world. In fact, I must scream to the scatter waves, Being cascaded spray with my family before night falls to my forehead.

Today be this blog, the disturbers birds in my rice field I was catched one by one, then I fly it to the illusion world, but a part of myself has been stolen by them.

PiS, June 2011
In Indonesian : Senja Kenangan dan Aku

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Another Hurts :

Fingers of God and the Time

When God snapped his fingers, death becomes knacks scattered on between us. Awareness of past mistakes like waking up from a long sleep. Regret that time back is a dream and will forever remain be a dream despite the cries became so. In the end just stated in 2 forms, prayer is fruitful Wisdom or protest in God that destroy the soul.

Witnessed, Flood repeatedly abundant compete with the endless tears. Mansions and decrepit shack worth the same. The poor protest, according to them, “However luxurious homes have more power to protect, profitable the concrete and metal bone often able to minimize mortality or the suffering of its inhabitants. Compared with the decrepit shack that the pole mast became deadly stoning, for those who take shelter there”. So the jealousy slowly crept among powerlessness. Twisted some of the contents of the head become an increasingly social chasm gaping. Once again in the end it will all be worth the same. Death.

When God snapped his fingers, tremble center of the earth spur trembling soul demolish anything without select. Debris, blood, fears and deaths here and there cause people to forget a bit of difference that are difficult chime (political point of view, culture, law, human race etc). Then we see physically, that please help be a strong bridge that appear beautiful. Some of them was sincere, but some others inserted anyway latent ideal, bridge to personal interests. Relief in sight generosity become vehicles that drove over the bridge, creative elegance and praise for the personals or class snobby, more painful when I heard that they get the benefit that before it has been predicted by them. Many people who lived it in a relieved feeling, without guilt, as the Creator blesses by saying it is part of the sweat running.

When the fingers of God on the snapped by him, only the applicable time like usual, he did not care on any differences, to intrigue as tricky as whatever, in tears as sad as whatever, , in laugh as continuously as whatever, in death as dark as whatever, in pain as poignant as whatever, in thousands commendable behavior or disgraceful, to the pity is pleading, in You, I, We or They, until the next flick of a finger.

In Indonesian : Jemari Tuhan dan Sang Waktu

PiS 2011

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Another Hurts :

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