Treasure Island

Sagar Onta

(6/15/1975 / Kathmandu)

Hope


Discarded like a used wrapper
He bleeds himself to death
Hurt pride is his funeral pyre
It sucks life out of life itself

What will this world be
If it loses its compassion
When the chips are down and darkness surrounds
Who will hold him up and show him around

He tries to get up
But stumbles every time he strives
He reaches out to be acknowledged
Only to be trampled upon the moment he rise

But he hangs on a hope
That one day she’ll turn around
Keeping himself warm by the simmering fire
Holding the flower from him funeral pyre

Submitted: Friday, August 31, 2007
Edited: Monday, April 04, 2011

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