Shaji Haneef Kagumi "Gaya Baru" Baca Puisi di Indonesia
Cari Berita

Breaking News

banner atas

Shaji Haneef Kagumi "Gaya Baru" Baca Puisi di Indonesia

bdy
Rabu, 29 Januari 2020


Shaji Haneef (India) saat membaca puisi di panggung Tegal Mas Island International Poetry Festival 2020 digelar Lamban Sastra Isbedy Stiawan ZS (dok).




INILAMPUNG.COM - Penyari Shaji Haneef, kewarganegaraan India yang tinggal di Dubai, menemukan "gaya baru" dalam pembacan puisi dari penyair Indonesia.

Gaya baru itu, dikatakan Shaji, membaca puisi diiringi musik, ekspresif, dan pesona saat di panggung. Berbeda sekali jika pembacaan puisi di India ataupun Dubai.

"Terkesan cool dan jadinya monoton," ujar dia seperti diterjemahkan Heri Mulyadi.

Masih kata Shaji yang datang bersama istri dan tiga putrinya -- Babitha, Lamiya Anjum, Liyana Sahar, dan Linsha Siddra -- yang juga penyair itu, akan mengenalkan "gaya baru" pembacaan puisi ini di negaranya.

"Karena lebih dinamis, dan sedap ditonton. Walaupun saya tidak paham artinya," ujar dia.

Putri keduanya, Liana Sahhar, tampil performa arts dengan dancer (menari), sementara Babitha dan Lamiya Anjum (lulusan dokter herwan) membaca puisi.

Berikut ini sebuah puisi Shaji Haneef:

MISUL NY SOUL!

He used to come every month
Following the Lunar calendar

Wearing a light grey half-sleeved 'Kantoora'(Arabic male dress)
My friend from Mosul, 
Ali Al Shawi

Was he disenchanted with his slave life 
Under the ‘guardian of the solar year’
Or heartbroken by the marine’s 
bayonet attack 
Or was he thrown in the poverty tent 
That cannot withstand the heat and cold 
Where was he lost?

He scared me in my dream last night
Half burnt, 
with protruded eyes
Before going to sleep, 
I had read again 
A Palastine poem, “Koofiyya”!

Before saying good night
I put around him my night blanket
In return, 
he sang the lines of anxiety 
Like the Iraqi singer Munir Bashir

The Black Drongo birds blew out fire arrows
Towards the night lantern
The Jasmine that spread on to the window
The Ilyasia flower in the garden 
The pink swing in the courtyard
Tied to the tree to please Noora,
The Subhi Minaret with green lantern
That walked with prayers alongside Emad
Sayyid’s 'Maqbasa' shop that served hot breads

During the last cold Ramadan
My dear friend, 
who perspired rosy sweat 
In front of the burning furnace 
With a heart that does not burn
The Sinchar mountain wind
Still stems the heat of Lucifer!

The dream of the ‘forbidden fruit’ 
The inner fear that the seducing eyes
Might distract attention from the moral path 
Let’s not squeeze out the feminine sights
And never cover it with the Niqab of darkness

A hated ‘Baghdadi’ with black headgear
In Baghdad today is trying to end the Khilafat 

That floated down the lane from Dijla river
He’s wandering without seeing the shore,
As he had installed the black flag

Remember that Hisham’s small boat
When both the land and the sea rejected him
He ended up his refugee dreams jumping into the waves
The abandoned boat wandered as a black question mark
Finally perished along with the setting sun, it seems!

Even in the dead of the night the silver line of hope
Comes as an awakening downpour of bombs
To guide those searching for their way out
The Red Cross will go back disheartened, numb
Mistaking them for the candle of truth!

How beautiful was my Mosul!
How much did I love her!
No words or voices can express it, my friend!

Today, my Mosul is just a land that smells death
While searching for my abandoned house
What I came across was a skeleton that still smiles
With a golden upper tooth singing lullabies 
The severed foot of my son
(Identification was the red shoes with frills on one of the 
Skeleton feet that I bought last time from Sameeh’s shop)

It’s the land where Uday and Qusay succumbed to death,
It’s the land of Jonah, 
who survived in the fish belly,
Of Abraham, 
who withstood the fire of Nimrod 
They chose the day when Ismael volunteered his neck
Obeying the order of the Lord for sacrifice 

For the last fifteen years, 
all Eid Al Adha remembers
Abu Uday along with Ismael!

Our Olive forest will never blossom again
The evergreen smile that emanated many colours is gone

Today, my Mosul is a dead land without even a sob
It lies dead blanketed by an expanse of graves 

Will you come, 
let’s meet for the last time
Let’s offer the last prayer for Mosul
Though woken up, 
I am still lying down on my bed
Closing my eyes forcefully
Wishing I could see him in a dream at least…

LIPSUS