Treasure Island

Dilantha Gunawardana


Nostalgia of Saxophone Blues


A saxophonist on a lonely bar, playing the urban blues
Melodies that resonates the solitude, of this bed of civilization
A tapestry of brick, woven together by the mortar of dreams
Where a legacy of the soil was abandoned
For the rancid flavor of an earthly opulence
Collectors with deep pockets yet shallow temples
Fleeting paper levitating ephemeral dreams
Dipped in the ink of the forefathers of the land
Larger than life figures dwarfed in to paper surfaces
To venerate an ethereal faith, multiplying within brick shrines
Hedonistic soldiers, in a crusade for a tangible Shangri-La
Utopia of fortified castles and backyard swimming pools
As hallucinating agents are inhaled by the gullible minds
Mutant psyches prospering in these overwhelming fogs of napalm
Pilgrims parting their birth-rite to the earthly rite of tangible wealth
In this smorgasbord of intemperance, lavish buffets of temptation
Yet, the heart yearns for the profoundness of fraternity
An eerie loneliness transcending arctic winters, hibernating souls
Valiant for the recapture of their birth rite
The fluidity of village conversations, the resonance of rural brotherhood
The permanence of family, the intangibility of heritage
The promise of cultivation, festivities of rural folklore
All wrapped in to a life resonating in to the heart of a lonely pilgrim
Only a saxophonist can deliver, in the solitude of a barstool
As the nostalgic psyche hunts in the dark
For the remnant sunlight of his gentile peasant legacy
Urban blues transcending the intangibility of a birth rite of rural greens
To the sprouting land unveiling the promise of a timeless mirth

Submitted: Saturday, November 03, 2012
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Poet's Notes about The Poem

A poem on opulence and the desire to recapture the lost heritage

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