Treasure Island

Aman Saa

(Assam, India)

connotation drops


If looking to make a little mistake

I have come to you

Do not ask me why I am so

We had met on the

other end of this song also...

The moment of which some memory and

some forgetting were weaved

And now all over we are in a tune

played on the festival of strangers,



If it is there, do not ask me of its beginning

Do not ask me of birth

in which way I am...

For death I have seen and my birth is many

I do not have long words to tell you

of my stories

of escapes and chase

inside the caves of the heart

in a dropp and a sea

a moment and an age

blend together and turn into a company

that is why night is young, always.



If my sorrows are caressed by unseen thoughts

If my tears are theft by the traps styled by my own self

Ask me not, why I don't cry

In the lanes of life, I too turn back

to take a glance at places

which I have left and to which shall never return.

In an unspoken voice

I write on you the music of a touch

We shall never know, the last time we sit side by side

And speak and think of nothing has just passed.



If looking to make a little mistake...

I ask you what the colour of love is

In which garden blossoms the butterfly

And embarks on to eternity to meet the wings of rainbow

Know that, it is in the joy of celebration

of the defeat of my ageless loneliness

in the hands of meeting a moment of yours,

I am portraying my own sketches in a shade even

not known to me

So just let me make a little mistake

As I come across a mirror while crossing the road

Let me glance at myself and not think what I see to be known..

...

Submitted: Friday, June 15, 2012

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  • Shahzia Batool (6/20/2012 11:38:00 PM)

    There is a celebrated saying of Aldous Huxley:
    Man is an amphibian, or to be more accurate, Man is five or six amphibians rolled into one, simultaneously conquering half a dozen worlds. in exploring the inner recesses of man, Browning worked in poetry, George Eliot in novel, Ibsen in drama etc...the drama of your poem is also staged in the landscape of the interior, some virgin, n untrodden regions of mind...with the original images of yours... (Report) Reply

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