The Divorce of a Poet, Ouda T Ena [learn to read books txt] 📗

The Divorce of a Poet

Divorce, no one wanted it. Why did it happen? Maybe because no one wanted it. Like burglary, even the burglar never wanted that his house was raided.
***
The noise from the fight in the parlor sounded like a doc of a busy harbor. Crash, boom, bang … smashing whatever was breakable. Cursing and swearing like two intoxicated rock stars ending their poor show smashing the guitars and the lights. Suddenly it all went dark and quite.
A round crystal fishbowl fell and broke. The small goldfish cornered in one of the broken piece. It was quiet, too scared to move, in the last drop of water it gasped for some air. It red small lips slowly opened and closed panting for life. Its tail and fin went numb.
The poet and his wife fumed with anger that they shrunk into two small infuriated kids.
It was a fight of two small kids fume with anger. When they recaptured their souls and minds they grew back as adults.
“We need to get divorce.” said the wife.
“You are right.” the husband said reticently.
“We used to be one and now we are two halves.”
“I know. Which house do you want?” asked the husband.
“on the second thought, I’ll stay here. You take the other house.” the husband continued.
“And the car?” asked the wife.
“Take it. I’m blessed with strong legs.”
“And the poems?”
“What’s it with my poems?” asked the poet.
“You wrote them when we were one. We are two halves now so half of the poems are actually mine.” said the wife.
She threw all the poems on the messy table. She took the love poems, put them into her bag and left.
The tiny red lips of the gold fish turned blue and kept grasping for air. The poet sagged limply motionless on the sofa with his eyes closed. She took away half of his poems, his soul. His last breath might have gone.

Perceraian Seorang Penyair

Tak ada yang menginginkannya namun selalu terjadi. Mengapa? Mungkin karena tak ada yang menginginkannya. Seperti pencurian, bahkan seorang pencuripun tak ingin rumahnya kecurian.
***
Pertengkaran di ruang depan. Suaranya bagai gudang dermaga. Terbanting apa yang bisa terbanting. Termaki apa yang bisa termaki. Sebuah toples bulat yang seperti bola Kristal, terjatuh dan pecah. Ikan mas kecil di dalamnya diam, tersudut di sisa pecahan. Dalam sedikit air itu dia mencoba bernafas perlahan, mulutnya yang merah mungil mengais-ngais sisa udara dari air yang tersisa, sirip dan ekornya diam.
Pertengkaran hebat dua bocah balita yang dadanya penuh bara. Setelah lama baranya mereda. Dan akal kembali ke pikiran sehingga mereka kembali tumbuh menjadi orang dewasa.
“Sepertinya kita harus berpisah” kata wanita itu.
“Ya.” Jawab laki-laki itu singkat.
“Dulu kita satu, dan sekarang masing-masing dari kita menjadi setengah.”
“Aku tahu. Kau mau rumah yang mana? Ah … ku piker aku mau di sini saja. Kau ambilah yang satunya.”
“Mobil itu?”
“Bawalah. Aku masih dikaruniai kaki.”
“Puisi-puisimu?”
“Ada apa dengan puisi-puisi itu?”
“Kau menulisnya waktu kita satu. Sekarang kita menjadi setengah. Jadi setengah puisi-puisi itupun milikku.”
Di atas meja tamu yang kacanya pecah, puisi-puisi itu ditumpah. Satu-satu puisi dipunguti, dimasukkan ke dalam keranjang bekas buah. Dipilihnya puisi-puisi cinta, lalu dengan menjijing keranjang dia pergi.
Bibir merah mungil ikan mas kecil mencoba mengais-ngais sisa udara dalam sisa air di bongkahan kaca. Sang penyair terkulai di sofa, mungkin tak ada lagi nafasnya. Ia tak mengerti bahwa syair adalah nyawa penulis puisi. Dan dia membawanya pergi.

Pegatan

Sejatine tan ana kang ngarepake, ananging asring kedadean. Kena apa? Sajake amerga ora ana kang kepengin. Maling wae ora kepengin omahe kemalingan.
***
Padudon ing pringgitan suarane kaya gudhang pelabuhan. Apa wae binanting. Pisuhan tan kendhat sesautan. Toples bunder wadah ngingu iwak tiba lan pecah. Iwak mas cilik ing jerone ora obah, kepojok ing pecahan beling toples mau, unjal ambegan ing banyu kang saya asat, mangap-mangat lan megap-megap. Buntut lan siripe ora obah.
Padudon wong sakloron pindha bocah cilik kang ngamuk, jaja bang ma winga-winga. Sakwise mendha lan pikiran pulih katata wong sakloron bali dewasa.
“Apike awake dhewe pisah wae,” ujare kang wadon.
“Ya.” Jawabe sing lanang cekak aos.
“Biyen awake dhewe sawiji lan saiki mung kari setengah.”
“Iya aku ngerti, gana-gini, sliramu ngersakake omah kang endi? Ndak pikir aku sing iki wae. Sliramu omah sijine.”
“Mobil iku?”
“Gawanen. Aku isih diparingi sikil.”
“Geguritan panjenengan?”
“Geguritanku kena apa?”
“Panjenengan nyerat geguritan iku nalika kita sawiji. Saiki kita mung setengah. Dadine setengahe saka geguritan itu duweku.”
Ing meja tamu kang kacane wis pecah, geguritan mau disokake. Geguritane dijupuki seka siji lan diwadahi kranjang tilas buah. Geguritan ngenani katresnan dipilihi banjur digawa lunga.

Iwak mas cilik mau megap-megap golek hawa ing beling pecahan toples mau. Sang pujangga nglumpruk ana ing kursi dawa, ambegane kaya wis ora ana. Sisihane ora mangerti yen geguritan iku nyawane pujangga. Lan nyawa mau wis kagawa lunga.

Text: Copyright © 2011 by Ouda Teda Ena All rights reserved. Published in the United States
Publication Date: 04-07-2011

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