[caption id="attachment_243421" align="alignnone" width="240" caption="Ilustrasi:www.artpad.com"][/caption]
I nearly got accustomed to your sudden visits,
at such odd hours, between waking and dreaming,
In such fleeting thoughts, or at the rare moments
When I feel most alive, saturated with life.
I recognize you, Goddess, although you are plainly
Cloaked in a commoner's robe. You came to me in
Unremarkable things, like the sound of children’s
Laughter, a warm heart of an old friend, kind words
Uttered by strangers, or the cool scented breeze that
Escaped the scorching sun through my window.
At these times, the words flow through me, guided
By the brilliant light of the patron’s torch,
Effortlessly finding their sanctuary in my pages.
At other times, mercilessly you confront me in
Your worst effronteries. You use the not so random
Tragedies: the death of an estranged neighbor, of love
Found and lost, or of halted personal dreams. Sometimes
You took in a colossal scale: the slow annihilation
Of a nation, natural disasters that wiped out an entire
Island, humans crushed by their own frailties into pain
And loss. At unfortunate times like this, I stuttered,
Finding words utterly useless: metaphors inadequate, similes
Contrasted, empty and barren to convey the melancholy
Of life, of the curse of being human, the sheer tragedy of it.
The crushing magnitude of it is paralyzing, while still
I wrestle with the shattering affairs in my own small
Misshapen life, with my own personal trials.
A mere vessel I am, interpreter of joy and sorrow, a messenger
At best. Ultimately, it is the words that chose me, bound me, and
Dutifully, I surrender to your will, my soul torn with every sorrow
I echoed, then roughly patched up with brief humble raptures,
And torn all over again.
***
Lagu Indigo Girls, Virginia Woolf