Wild Jungle Boy

These screens are too piercing for the
Wild jungle boy’s eyes that dart
From void to matter and see things
That don’t matter
He digs for worms and photosynthesizes
Like a self-sufficient walking farm bleating out
Prophecies largely ignored by the general population too
Mesmerized by the spectacle his appearance narrates
Those dreadlocks are thick long pipes hollowed out
By organic disintegration and his teeth
Uneven and filthy and reeking of unseen lives
And him, crouching and moving like a slow old ape
In the noisy busy streets that sustain the imaginary
Of a city where hopefuls come with sacks of goods
And hope like formal documents that refused to be thrown but
Chucked useless into a dusty folder
The jungle wild boy sees but never interprets
He lurks under bridges and runs on grass
At night when drunkards bawl behind wheels and cat eyes illuminate in shadows
And when the roads cool completely and dawn threatens to expose
Herself he returns to the elements and
Howls in the honks of traffic jams and adopts the curve of bent necks
Hanging over screens and pages or sometimes
Beeping to the tune of overworked billboards
Knowing nothing of the past and future.

Artwork by Syahbandi Samat, "Hidup", 2015