Treasure Island

Naveed Saraf

(Baramulla)

What then of you and me is seen?


What then of Rain is heard?
Not the shape. Not what It sounds like.
The world now stays far,
far off the nakedness,
somewhere, where the body
in the gilded ornaments hide.
The world now is too fearfull of the truth,
that it hath the lie corroded with smiles.

What then of ignorance is seen?
Not the innocence. Not what It comes like.
The world now comes with a reason
of how to measure the tearful eye.
A pair of cross'd fists
now sweat in number.
And the pair of tied fingers
need cut with a sharp knife.

What then of virtue is felt?
Not the light. Not what It feels like.
The world is now too covered
to let the simplicity breathe
with its virtuous deeds.
And let the kids' strife
pass like a smile unhurt
somewhere in the loved corners.

What then of a torn hat is seen?
Not the comfort. Not what It comes for.
The world now sits
and mourns at its absurdity.
And the torn fall on the naked body
comes with strife in words.
The world now doesn't attend
to the faithfulness of the scars.

What then of you and me is seen?
Only what, we are, when in the vile ornaments.
The world now doesn't attend
to the faithfulness of the scars.
Not to the bends of the body either.


What then of you and me is seen?
Only what, we are, when in the vile ornaments.

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

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

©Naveed Saraf [30-12-2011].

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