Me Poem by Amrita Pritam

Me



Lots of contemporaries—
but 'me' is not my contemporary.

My birth without 'me'
was a blemished offering on the collection plate.
A moment of flesh, imprisoned in flesh.

And when to the tip of this tongue of flesh
some word comes, it kills itself.
If saved from killing itself,
it descends to the paper, where a murder happens.

Gunshot—
if it strikes me in Hanoi
it strikes again in Prague.

A little smoke floats up,
and my 'me' dies like an eighth-month child.
Will my 'me' one day be my contemporary?

POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
[Translated from the Punjabi by D.H. Tracy & Mohan Tracy]
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Aditi 05 December 2021

Where can I find its explaination? ?

0 0 Reply
Rathod Vaishakh 28 July 2015

wow i love amrita if she lives today i will meet her by selling my soul

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Amrita Pritam

Amrita Pritam

Gujranwala, Punjab / Pakistan
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