Treasure Island

Naveed Saraf

(Baramulla)

Whilst The Growth Of Our Journey


There reaches a time:
When blood refuses to marry the body;
When eyes tremble across the periphery;
When the morning dew is endeared with torn grass;
When the fear is stitched to the pocket.
That is to say-
when days don't follow the night,
Nails don't hug the skin.
Whilst the growth of our journey,
There reaches this time
and thee hath the art buried,
Hopes feared,
Bosom nailed where the love'd grown.
Whilst the growth of our journey,
There reaches this time
and thee hath the summer buried,
Brows wither'd,
Rose burned where the smile'd grown.
Whilst the growth of our journey,
There reaches this time
and thee hath the voice speak ill
In the widowed tune.
But stop, speak not so weak of thyself then,
For it is then when thee shall learn
to guide the broken compass,
When thee shall learn to embrace,
And embrace with open arms.
Speak not so weak of thyself then,
For it is then when thee shall learn:
There is pleasure in suffering.
When thee shall learn to meet the gloomed eye.
Speak not so weak of thyself then,
For it is then when thee shall prosper,
And learn, there is pleasure in suffering,
When thee shall prosper,
And learn, there is pleasure in suffering.

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

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

©Naveed Saraf.

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