Note from Shaily: Here is a piece in Indonesian by a co-blogger, Sunarno. Even though I don’t know that language, I am a fan because the Google translation of his pieces take me to a world made purely of feelings.
Here is the link to the original post: Link
And here is the Google Translation of his piece (I can’t vouch for accuracy of translation but assure you reading it will be worth it.).
Prayer mat on the shoulders of the Dusk Man
The market has shed its frenzy. The old man walked slowly, prayer mat hanging over his shoulders like an unhurried promise. The call to prayer has not yet sounded, but the time has shifted from bargaining to contemplation. The lowing of cattle was the only sound that lingered, filling the space left by conversation and ambition.
The ground was still wet with footprints and dirt that hadn’t been swept away, like a wound that had been left to dry on its own. No one is in a hurry to clean up, because here, chaos is part of everyday life, and everyday life is part of unfinished prayers.
And the man stopped for a moment at the edge of the prayer room, looking at the sky which was slowly turning orange. The prayer mat on his shoulders is not just a piece of cloth, but a path home that he carries wherever he goes. Behind the wrinkles on his face, there is a history of the market, a history of rice fields, a history of loss that he never talks about. Twilight embraced him silently, as if to say: prayer doesn’t need to be rushed, because every remaining second is an opportunity to return.
Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective 