Treasure Island

Naveed Akram

(15 December 1973 / London, England)

Minutes Of Play


Minutes of play were exact remembrances of honesty,
Forgetting was starting to start the ends of the earth;
My hours of flying were over like the dresses of soil,
The turf we whitened was overtaken by the ground of electricity.

My minute play was small enough to adapt to roses;
Promises, and more promises barged in like roses,
My play was over when we began to over recite,
Like the layman in his flute of life we call to address.

Submitted: Thursday, May 29, 2014

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Topic(s): time

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