Treasure Island

Lenin Meitei Thingujam

(Imphal, Manipur)


Inch by inch I will move,
But move I will, nonetheless,
And not settle into
An algal crown.

Heave out my tent,
Nestled between “IF`s” and “BUT`S”
And pitch it a little higher,
Exposed to the rain and heat.

Rise with the Sun
And toil through the day.
Stop wearing the colour of night,
Trying to escape God`s gaze.

Invite Mr. Jones
Over to a humble dinner,
Take him by the hand
And settle it with a hug.

Live in grace
And not dream in waste
Or hark back
To a golden yesterday.

Look into the mirror
And see the man inside.
Cajole and condone,
For who I am.

Leap from the edge,
Fly or fall
And love you each day
A little more.

Submitted: Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Listen to this poem:

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Promises by Lenin Meitei Thingujam )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley Updates

New Poems

  1. Older, Younger, Both, Joyce Sutphen
  2. Living in the Body, Joyce Sutphen
  3. Beggar thy Neighbor, John F. McCullagh
  4. In Black, Joyce Sutphen
  5. Ever After, Joyce Sutphen
  6. Miracle entry, hasmukh amathalal
  7. Evening Angelus, Joyce Sutphen
  8. Casino, Joyce Sutphen
  9. At the Moment, Joyce Sutphen
  10. Destonation Life, david kush

Poem of the Day

poet Henry Lawson

The old year went, and the new returned, in the withering weeks of drought,
The cheque was spent that the shearer earned,
and the sheds were all cut out;
...... Read complete »


Member Poem

[Hata Bildir]