Treasure Island

Abdul Wahab


A few pounds of reddish clay


Straight on the bed
What does that lay?
A mould of flesh
What does it call?
A human being
What does it mean?
Hoards, eats and sleeps
When it gets tired takes rest
Does it all that he possess?
At pleasure it jumps
In pain it coils in
Does it have the power of thinking?
Oh, yes,
That’s the great
And only quality
On the basis of which
A body of meat
Turns into human
Otherwise it remains
As valueless as
Few pounds of reddish clay.

Submitted: Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, July 24, 2013

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Comments about this poem (A few pounds of reddish clay by Abdul Wahab )

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  • Angelina Holmes (4/13/2014 12:12:00 PM)

    Love it. It is so true: humans are simply blobs of nothingness... if not for our intellect! Beautifully captured image. (Report) Reply

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