Aman Saa

Rookie (Assam, India)

Traces Of Madness (Madman's Song) - Poem by Aman Saa

You would have said, ship carries us to the water
and wets us in the joys of sail.
And my reason would have raised its voice saying
A ship rather lets us remain dry of the river
And so would have been our fight.
Had there not appeared my madness and being our guide
told our wise ignorance that ship lets us know
that life and death are but two sides of the same coin and
coins cannot buy us more than what we have;
and what we have learnt to own.

Don't question my madness, nor inquire its sources
I shall also not talk of your sorrow and your song's sadness
But if at this greater curiosity greets your heart
know that it is my only inheritance.

I am heir of many lost roads
So my book begins not at a beginning
And I author letters addressed to shelter less souls,
I tell tales those only a traveler knows
not of the travel but from the travel of life of a wanderer

When I worship my madness
that is not mine but have become very own of my songs
help prevail a little silence in its praise of yours
for without it no one would have been happy
though everyone would have seemed to be
no one would have been sad
though everyone would have seemed to be.

Behind the rainy dews of the grass on whose softness
I walk is a fire of death and birth
and the many storms of life.
I have treaded upon all and so I know
what it is to burn.
If you have not seen beyond sights
And all of fire you had known is a candle light
behind your lover, why talk of fire.

My pain is never an orphan
Nor is it blind
It walks upon the road shown by my smiles
hand in hand like eternal lovers
And since times unknown to me
My joys are nomads.

There are reasons or else
nor you neither I would have been so
Unsung and unexpressed
It's you to know now who is mad;
when the madman and the madness in his songs
stand before you as I offer you my poems.


Poet's Notes about The Poem

As many of poems, it is composed on the ground of nature and night and have of it is yours and the rest is the unknown source from where words come to me and it seems they are mine.

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, May 13, 2012

Poem Edited: Sunday, May 13, 2012


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