Nothing Left* … 1512-12 Poem by saadat tahir
Nothing Left* … 1512-12
I fear the silent day
when I am but an empty shell
when heart aches, hands shake
and I have nothing left to sell
bobble on drift wood debris
like a husk or empty shell
when oft I mumble to myself
and I have nothing left to tell
days lost to stupor
long the cold hacking nights
to my dim wet eyes
festivity? nothing left in lights
awake only a moment
to the tinkle of a tossed dime
fumble to scrape it up
there is nothing left to rhyme
days and nights clot
in an endless wrenching strife
someone trod my fingers
there is nothing left in life
someone threw a pack
reeking with gooey slime
it splattered by my address
I've nothing left but time
• Silent observation of the homeless tramps one sees in squares and plazas all over Europe. Who have given up on life and lay huddled on sidewalks and cobbled paths.
• To be fair, this isn't just a European phenomenon, it is a universal dilemma. Just brought into sharp relief, by the bold and the beautiful and big spender
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original
15th Dec,2k12
Islamabad.
The activity and motion pave a splendid handicraft of words. It is not easy to reach to the core and splash it as it is done here. The notes are welcome approach.
with the help of the poet's notes, the poem is a good record of this common phenomenon ////////// it is easy to express our feelings, but it is an art to express the feelings of others as our own ///////// though what i think about the last line outside the context is that many of us have lost time itself, what if you have nothing left but time? ///////// thank you sir for a nice poem- - - - rgds
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/3/2024 9:10:39 PM # 1.0.0.1119
long stretches of Time become painful in misery