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(Assam, India)

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exile essay

A man died on the road
His eyes were like the clamoring of glasses,
as if a thunder storm has just been conquered.
A mad man nearby sat and draw diary of death
As if time is posing nude in the street.
When his face was turned
I found a strange similarity
with mine.
We both were travelers
He is gone
I still walk.
But who shall reach whom?
If life is a quote within apostrophes
of time, where is death and the age before my birth?
what about the portrait on a canvass of madness?


I have put up myself
Looking for something deeper and something dense
either may be another human or a forest
at best my own reflection in a lake.
The yearnings of heart and soul
The desires that burn or put off the fire
on the opposite road with a milestone of water.
I question,
and punctuation tries to envelope me.
I must find but the similarity,
that I have seen in death and me
And thus invite life
For neither the exploration can be forgiven
nor is there any mimicry for this fire.
Where shall I go and where I come from
I must know.
The lap of this knowing is not an alternative to worshipping.
The debate with God must be fair.
And the rules are to be applied to both the contestants.
And this medal won't be shared.

Many often I and you look for something
We leave no secrets unveiled.
But at the end so it happens
we find it in our own pockets.
I very well know my secrets are not beyond me
Even though I go on searching
The last stoppage will be a known neighborhood.
In the mask of an exile.

Submitted: Saturday, February 02, 2013


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Comments about this poem (he and she(somewhere, another day) by Aman Saa )

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  • S.zaynub Kamoonpuri (4/27/2013 1:48:00 AM)

    Hmm a gr8 n wonderful abstract piece very reflective! Do read mine too pls.

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  • Neela Nath (2/16/2013 7:10:00 AM)

    In the labyrinth of words and imagery if anyone is not lost, he must get the essence of this write.Last stoppage is known to all.The other things are still a riddle.

  • The Reader (2/5/2013 10:34:00 AM)

    Vague words for vague emotions, unresolved metaphors, the image of the lines is like a dense jungle where someone loses the way back, but never gets worried & wearied as he meets his own self... point blank! ! ! realistic ending: But at the end so it happens
    we find it in our own pockets.
    The last stoppage will be a known neighborhood.
    In the mask of an exile.

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