Saat tiba musim dengan kuntum bunga dan kupu-kupu,
Hijau dan sunyi dialun kali berhulu nil syurga,
Lalu cinta pun bergantungan di tali hati,
Bagai ros merah dan loceng leher sapi,
Harum tak kurang sekebun warna yang kau pugar,
Dentingnya lembut memanggil aku datang,
Membias wangi dan cahaya segar,
Dengan aku di hujung tali dan kau di hujung satu lagi,
Akanku anyam menjadi simpul paling mati.
Minda dijajah perit sakit mengenangmu
Sudah aku tak mampu
Bukan kerna aku jemu atau tak mahu
Ketamakan membunuh aku sedari itu
Ada racun walau dalam cium yang paling manis
Dan restu bukan sekadar tentang hidup berdua
Tapi tentang menjaga nama ayah dan ibu
Menanggung sakit rindu tak lebih payah dari mengusung dosa derhaka pada mereka
Ayuh, merdekakan rindu kita sayang
Cinta mu itu sebenarnya tak ada yang lebih layak melainkan dia
Bila aku hanya yang tersungkur di lembar ketidak-adilan tuhan
Dalam mengejar bayang takdir
Yang selalu muram
Yang selalu hitam.
Sedang membaca Papillon.
Setakat 400 halaman, apa yang boleh lara rumuskan, ia adalah bukan fiksyen TERBAIK lara pernah baca.
"Madame, your son died without chains on his leg. He died bravely at the sea, far from warders and from prison. He died free, struggling courageously to gain his liberty. We each promised the other to write to his family in case anything happened to either of us. I am doing this painful duty, and i kiss your hands as a son would do."
Manusia itu fana, makhluk laut kekal abadi, Dan terpetiklah sebuah kisah, Di tebing pantai paling landai, Ada duyung sedang berhiba, Mengenang nasibnya yang paling malang, Antara dia dan pemuda nelayan, Dia duyung mustahil berkaki, Pemuda nelayan tak mungkin pula menumbuh insang, Ketidak-adilan apakah ini tuhan? Cinta kau karang bersulam tragedi? Duyung terus menangis, Airmata jadi lautan, Dan di kedalaman laut paling jurang, Makam pemuda nelayan bersemadi, Ada denyut jantung, Mendenyutkan nama yang terlarang, Memanggil duyung pulang.
There was a woman, and she was wise;
woefully wise was she;
She was old, so old,
yet her years all told were but a score and three;
And she knew by heart, from finish to start,
the Book of Iniquity.
There is no hope for such as I on earth,
nor yet in Heaven;
Unloved I live, unloved I die,
unpitied, unforgiven;
A loathèd jade, I ply my trade,
unhallowed and unshriven.
I paint my cheeks, for they are white,
and cheeks of chalk men hate;
Mine eyes with wine I make them shine,
that man may seek and sate;
With overhead a lamp of red I sit me down and wait
Until they come, the nightly scum,
with drunken eyes aflame;
Your sweethearts, sons, ye scornful ones;
tis I who know their shame.
The gods, ye see, are brutes to me
and so I play my game.
For life is not the thing we thought,
and not the thing we plan;
And Woman in a bitter world
must do the best she can;
Must yield the stroke, and bear the yoke,
and serve the will of man;
Must serve his need
and ever feed the flame of his desire,
Though be she loved for love alone,
or be she loved for hire;
For every man since life began
is tainted with the mire.
__And though you know he love you so
__and set you on love’s throne;
__Yet let your eyes but mock his sighs,
__and let your heart be stone,
__Lest you be left (as I was left) attainted and alone.
__From love’s close kiss to hell’s abyss
__is one sheer flight, I trow,
__And wedding ring and bridal bell
__are will-o’-wisps of woe,
__And ’tis not wise to love too well,
__and this all women know.
__Wherefore, the wolf-pack having gorged
__upon the lamb, their prey;
__With siren smile and serpent guile,
__I make the wolf-pack pay;
__With velvet paws and flensing claws,
__a tigress roused to slay.
__One who in youth sought truest truth
__and found a devil’s lies;
__A symbol of the sin of man,
__a human sacrifice.
__Yet shall I blame on man the shame?
__Could it be otherwise?
Was I not born to walk in scorn
where others walk in pride?
The Maker marred, and, evil-starred,
I drift upon His tide;
And He alone shall judge His own,
so I His judgment bide.
Fate has written a tragedy;
its name is “The Human Heart.”
The Theatre is the House of Life,
Woman the mummer’s part;
The Devil enters the prompter’s box
and the play is ready to start.
**Sajak yang sangat sangat bagus - The Harpy olehRobert W. Service 1874-1958. Dideklamasikan dengan sedikit pengubahsuaian oleh yang lara minati, yang tersohor Steve Von Till melalui video di atas, which i found very deep and interesting. Sajak yang bagus, pendeklamasi yang bagus dengan suara yang bagus, memberi nilai tambah dan meninggalkan kesan yang bukan kecil. Tidak percaya? Maka nikmatilah.
berhenti menyintaimu serupalah menjerut leher ke tali gantung,
bukan mati yang aku bimbangkan,
melain ajal enggan mengaku saudara,
dan membiar aku tergantung siksa.
berhenti menyintaimu serupalah menghamburkan diri,
dari tebing laut yang paling tinggi,
menjatuh hancur di kedalaman teluk dan karang,
jasadku mustahil dapat dikenal orang.
berhenti menyintaimu serupalah kiamat kecil,
yang tak pernah difatwa sebarang ulama,
atau tertanda dalam kitab apa jua,
ia khurafat yang paling nyata!
