Naveed Saraf

(Baramulla)

Past the sun's rosy cheeks


As I walk past the sun's rosy cheeks,
And leave behind its realms,
Amongst the narrow paths,
'tween the torn nests:
Must I be naked by the hands,
'fore the nails had glean'd the swelling crust;
Must I be melted by the skin,
Broken at the joints,
Orphaned at the voice;
Must I be tied to the brougham,
that owns a dead horse
on the bearded road;
Must I, whilst the hanged neck survive,
pine and surfeit;
As I walk past the sun's rosy cheeks,
Must I untie the sweated hands;
Must I let the cracks loose,
Skin swell and the blood transude.
That is to say, I must be done and gone,
That is to say, My walks must cease.
But see, sun's rosy cheeks are a lie,
Like the gilded hand, that hath the nails polished.
You see, sun's rosy cheeks are a lie,
Like a rich man, who is e'er so happy.
It is when we're alone that we're knowers,
When we're naked that we survive.
It is when the thick air melts that we grasp,
When the leaves burn that we sow the smoke.
All the rest we mustn't fault,
We come to day alone and we die alone,
The belted shoulder doesn't colour the skin.
You see, sun's rosy cheeks are a lie,
Like a polished boot, that sells newest revels.
It is when we're alone that we're knowers,
When we're naked that we survive.
It is when the thick air melts that we grasp,
When the leaves burn that we sow the smoke.

Submitted: Sunday, May 12, 2013
Edited: Monday, September 16, 2013

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©Naveed Saraf.

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