Treasure Island

Naveed Akram

(15 December 1973 / London, England)

On And On


On and on I ride the waves,
Muttering to the sounds of the sand
That flows so fluidly, in the manner
Called water.

On these waves we embed a circle,
Always in sinning,
Always in whirling,
Pools marry the dust of the sea.

I have no answer to your key,
The door of monstrous expanses
Seems to be a minor deed.
I ride the waves offered to us.

Maybe killing a flower so red
Is to kiss a rose person,
Or do rosy men and women
Find heavenly peace?

This sea, this sea entices oneself
And one’s offspring to abhor the weight
That lurks behind the waves,
It mattered most that seas were dropped.

Submitted: Friday, November 11, 2011
Edited: Saturday, November 12, 2011
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