Leni Marlina’s Poem Collection: “To You, Survivors of the Flash Flood”

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To You, Survivors of the Flash Flood
Poem by Leni Marlina
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O you, Brothers, Sisters—
bodies once steadied by the certainty of earth—
now stand upon the lip of a current
that no longer remembers the name of anyone.
The waters rose without a whisper:
like a dark memory rupturing from the spine of the hills
and sliding down the valley
like history slipping free of its own reins.
Behold the tumbling logs—
like the gaping jaws of a giant
driven out of the forest’s ancient hush,
devouring anything bold enough to question.
Mud clings to your calves—
like an overturned hourglass,
reversing time, drowning the childhood
that once played in the yard
now fading into a faint line beneath its brown crust.
Houses are torn away—
like the husk of a life harvested too soon by an invisible hand.
You search for the voices of your family
perhaps snagged among branches and fallen trees,
or perhaps already becoming new shadows
behind stones that no longer lie in peace.
Listen—amid the current
that rips apart the map of hope,
one breath refuses to be carried off: your own breath.
You hold it like an ember longing to die
yet burning deep red at its core.
You know: as long as that ember glows,
you are not debris, you are not what remains.
You are the witness who summons tomorrow
with palms still drenched in mud,
for only those once dragged under
know how to reclaim themselves from the river’s floor.
And when the current withdraws,
leaving a long scar across the face of the earth,
you stand—
not as a victim, but as the truest trace:
That you may be shattered by the torrent—
yet still emerge as a voice the world cannot drown.
That your body may be torn by mud—
yet your spirit stands upright
like roots that grow and refuse
to abandon their soil.

That you were once crushed by waves—
yet reawaken
as a new line on the map of human courage.

That you are not the wreckage left behind,
but the pulse that keeps beating
on land that almost surrendered.

That you once fell as deep as the current,
yet return in full being with a light
the mud itself could not smother.
Arise, O my Brothers, my Sisters! We arise together.

Padang, Sumatra, Indonesia 2025
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The Scent of Currents in Your Hair
Poem: Leni Marlina
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The scent of the currents still clings to your hair,
a bitter metal tang and a bitter salt,
colliding like two seasons
forced to inhabit the same trembling body.
When the wind passes, it breathes through your hair slowly,
as if trying to read the stories
the mud has hidden between its strands.
Look at your hands:
still trembling like two small birds
that have lost the tree
where they once sheltered. And your fingertips—
ah, they are like fractured flutes—
still attempting to sing
though the world has only just shattered in your lap.
You step forward, and the ground beneath you pulses,
as though pumping courage back into your bones. It feels like warm bread
touched in the middle of a heavy rain—
a small warmth that overrules a vast cold.
In the distance, the morning sun edges upward.
It does not shine; it lays its hands upon you.
Its light is a soft tongue
licking the mud from your shoulders,
returning the colors the currents stole last night.
You offer a thin smile,
and slowly the world begins to recognize you again.

Padang, Sumatra, Indonesia 2025
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When the Earth Teaches Us to Breathe
Poem: Leni Marlina
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That evening, the earth smelled like memory:
sour, bitter, and warm all at once.
Your footsteps made a small sound—
as though the soil were chewing sorrow
with its own ancient teeth.
The fallen trees lay with their bodies tangled and wet,
their breath audible and faint
if you pressed your cheek against their trunks:
a soft snore from a great creature that refuses to die.
The sky reddened slowly,
like the face of someone who has just finished weeping.
Its amber light swept across your body with a tender bitterness,
as if whispering,
“I did not come to comfort you,
but to remain beside you.”
You sat down,
letting the earth cling to your palms.
It felt like holding the heartbeat of the world—
pulsing slowly, softly, yet still pulsing.
And then you asked in silence:
“How deeply can a human fall
before they cease to be themselves?”
The earth answered with a small tremor beneath your feet:
“Humans do not fall. Humans return to their center.”
And so you stood,
carrying that answer
into the chambers of your own body.

Padang, Sumatra, Indonesia 2025

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About the Poet: Leni Marlina (UNP Padang, PPIPM-Indonesia, PPIC, SatuPena West Sumatra, KEAI, ACC SHILA, PLS, PILF).
Leni Marlina was born in Baso, Agam, West Sumatra, and currently resides in Padang. She is a poet, writer, and lecturer in the English Literature Study Program at the Faculty of Languages and Arts, Universitas Negeri Padang, where she has been teaching since 2006. Her life and work merge education, the arts, and the pursuit of meaning through words, silence, and imagination.

Writing poetry since 2000, Leni Marlina has produced thousands of works reflecting contemplative thought, environmental and social issues, humanity, and the pursuit of peace. During her Master’s studies in Writing and Literature at the University of Melbourne (2011–2013), she continued to write, using poetry as a quiet space that awakens awareness. Since 2024, she has opened her “ocean of words” to the public through various digital platforms.

Her recent works include the single poetry collections The Beloved Teachers (2025) and L-BEAUMANITY: Love, Beauty, and Humanity (2025), as well as the trilogy English Stories for Literacy (2024–2025). Beyond teaching, she is actively involved in national and international literary communities and has founded several literacy and digital literature initiatives.
As the founder and chair of multiple social, literary, and digital literature movements—such as PPIPM-Indonesia (Indonesian Poetry Readers and Writers Community), Poetry-Pen International Community (PPIC), Literature Talk Community (Littalk-C), and EL4C (English Language Learning, Literature, and Literacy)—she continues to bridge generations through literature, fostering cultures of reading, writing, and reflection.

Leni is also an active member of SatuPena Sumbar, the Komunitas Penyala Literasi Sumbar (PLS), and numerous other communities dedicated to language, literacy, literature, and culture.
In recognition of her dedication, she received the Best Writer Award 2025 from SatuPena West Sumatera at the 3rd International Minangkabau Literacy Festival (IMLF-3), and the ACC International Literary Prize 2005 from the ACC Shanghai Huiyu International Literary Creative Media Centre.
In 2025, Leni was appointed Indonesian Poetry Ambassador to the ACC Shanghai Huifeng International Literary Association (ACC SHILA) and further entrusted with the role of *ASEAN Director for ACC SHILA Poets. In that same year, the Capital Writers International Foundation named her National Director (Indonesia) for the International Panorama Literary Festival (IPLF) 2026, scheduled for January–February 2026 (www.panoramafestival.org).

The Indonesian version of the poems collection is available in the following official link: