ONE LOVE, TWO CONTINENTS
Goodbye Great Writer

Jama’ awakens from sleep and some moments stretches the nerves of the body. Sometimes he rubbed his face and squeezed his head a little tired. Seeing Syahrel bowed on top of the laptop, Jama’ approached him and closed Syahrel's laptop again. This is often Jama’ finds both when he is healthy or sick. Syahrel's habit of falling asleep with his head bowed and the laptop on his lap was left on.

“This, which is like this the habit of Aa”, slowly Jama’ closes and takes the laptop from Syahrel's lap. But this time something was different, Syahrel was still downcast and not moving at all. His second habit, Syahrel usually wakes up and goes to sleep by leaning his head on a pillow as Jama’ picks up the laptop from his lap. Jama’ also woke Syahrel.

“A, Aa..”

Suddenly the man's body drooped down with his eyes still closed.

“Aaaaa.. Aaaa….. Syahrel!!” Jama’ screaming hysterically.

“Allahu Akbaaar…! Innalillahi Wa Inna Illaihi Roji’un.”.

Jama’ still can not accept this situation, he feels Syahrel is still alive. Jama’ feels like he failed to take care of the only person he has and loves, a teacher and older brother.

Now Syahrel has left with all the stories of his life that are still full of mystery. Buried already works best seller with his body in a burrow. All that was left was a piece of message in his laptop that had not been erased:

The clock, I was no longer able to endure the pain that was now eating away at my body. There's nothing I can leave behind, please you occupy the house whose room is now silencing and killing me in solitude. Make the most of it and manage it so well that I can hear the sound of a little baby crying in this house. No longer be lonely, use it as well as possible until others can feel what I leave behind.

There's not much I ask. I don't care if my belly button gets neglected and left untreated or even built in luxury homes. One day I take care of all my work, let it be a reference material for those who really want to be writers and writers. Because I know, in my country this writer and writer do not get a special space because there is no allocation of APBN and APBD. Anyway maybe the country is lazy to take care of people like us, hehehehe. You name the Picisan Writer's Museum even if it's okay.(i'm guyon loh).

Jam, some of the remaining royalties please give to the orphaned Foundation, I know they are lonely like me, when longing for a Father and the gentle caress of Mother's hand. If you are able, make an award for writers, so that there is little appreciation and contribution to the development of the literary world.

That's all I leave for you, my best friend and sister.I deliberately didn't wake you up because I knew you were tired of taking care of me. Say hello to everyone, forgive my mistakes. Minal ‘aidin wal fa’idizin…..

- Syahrel (Poor Musyakirin (MF ))

                                                                                     oooc

The Second Year Has Changed

The blue sky stretched, the expanse of clouds marched like a snow hill without any refutation, without a pole. The wind blew gently caressing on the face, one frangipani flower fell down just under the tombstone, upload the land planted with green grass and nightly flowers, so beautiful.

From a distance so softly heard the chanting of holy verses, tahlil and tahmid proposed and ended with do’a. The appearance of a mourning face and glazed eyes, covering the sheet of the Qur’an, his hand gently stroking the name with a black color that is still clearly legible, written on the tombstone.

“Dad, Mommy kok nangis?” the voice of the toddler broke the silence.

Spontaneously the two exchanged glances looking at the innocent boy in his mother's arms. They don't know how to answer it either.

“Oooh, this is the tomb of Uak Syahrel.” Jama’ tries to give his son the answer first.

Zahra also seemed confused to get the question,

”Hemmm, Uak Syahrel is Dad and Bunda”'s brother

“So yaah.”

The little boy simply nodded and returned engrossed with the toy in his hand.With such heavy steps they left the funeral of the man who was now lying in solitude and longing

length.

The two lead a tiny finger walking through the cemetery complex.

“Allahummaghfirlahu warhamhu wa ‘afihi wa’fu ‘anhu wa akrim nuzulahu wa wassi’ madkhalahu wa taqabbala a’malahu waj’al al-jannata maswahu. Allahumma la tahrimna ajrimahu wa la taftinna ba’dahu waghfir lana wa lahu.." 

O Allah, forgive him and have mercy on him. Save him and forgive him. Give honor to him, expand his entrance. Bathe him with water, snow, and dew. Clean him from mistakes

It has been two years since Shahrel's departure left many memories, the deceased is known so simply, humble and helps people a lot. There was much unrest he had, about fellow writers who had not gained a decent position in this country, in Europe and the West how much writers and art workers were valued.

Syahrel followed in the footsteps of W. S. Rendra and several other satrawans they glorified, the late getting a good position in Germany.

The career that he obtained and obtained did not make Syahrel happy, the life sadness relay he got after many years, after he delivered the mother to perform the pilgrimage, instead left the living jewel for eternity.

Likewise, when he billed the promise of the person he hoped to be his life companion later. The achievement that the deceased had obtained was solely for the sake of two people he loved, mother and Dita.

He remembered the words of his father Dita, Pak Anggoro who was so insulting to the late, until finally Syahrel could prove that he was able to become a great writer and get everything.

But his achievements felt in vain, when he wanted to pick up Dita, instead he was surprised by the appearance of a toddler who welcomed his arrival. Until finally an accident becomes the last meeting and forever.

Now buried all hope, love and sacrifice, along with him. Perhaps God found them in another life, there is the eternity of love, sacrifice, hope and faithfulness of the deceased obtained from Him who is Most Love, whose love will not fade with the more ancient of the time.

Now Jama' and Zahra are the ones who continue what Syahrel inherited, trust and hope. Syahrel left a good name and royalty that will not be broken and given to the movement of literacy and art.

The house he had just bought, the deceased gave it to Jama' and Zahra. That should be for Dita and her children with Shahrel, as well as mother. Now that they remain in another life, may Allah meet them in the eternity of Love, God place them in a worthy position by his side.

Good luck to the good guys.