[The Journal] – with a Grass Green Coloured Sleeve
for Amina Khan
Scene/Act One: Kotli, Kashmir – Winter of ’93 C.E. / She is actually sitting at the foot of the bed / … / I possess the energy to share the dream (from the night before) with her: you pay me a visit to inquire about my health (since I was feeling under the weather with a serious case of flu and fever; had to take a leave of absence from school for the entire week); you sit on the bed with me, while I rest my congested head on the home made pillow (made from chicken and duck feathers) / But I still cannot muster up the courage to confess to her that I’ve an unbearably heart-crushing crush on her / … / And I adopt [the journal] – with a grass green coloured sleeve (with a couple of Chinese words embossed on it in gold—which probably read: “Notebook”) / (But it would still take me another decade or so to properly learn a few phrases in Chinese, too!) / … But of course, [its] opening page opens with a couple of my virgin-verses (a hymn, more like) for her:
The green in your eyes – as fresh as the lush grass in the Spring,
The Kashmiri-white of your face – as fair as the dew bathed lily.
(Somethin’ along these lines) / … / And thereafter, the habit of keeping a journal is adopted (for life) / … / And [it] would also note a couple of my childish inquiries: who created God(s); if we became immortal, what would become of heaven & hell? / (But it would still take me another decade or so to find--MANUFACTURE, more like—any convincing answer(s) to that!) / … / And [it] would also note a few lines (an homage, more like) on Kashmir:
The rivers of blood are runnin’ wild,
cries a child!
The forests of fire are dancin’ wild,
cries a child!
(Somethin’ along these lines) / (But it would still take me another decade or so to truly appreciate the (value & power of) metaphors) / … / At the raw age of 13, not in the wildest of my wildest imagination(s) would’ve I ever thought that only in a decade or so down the line, I would be becoming hopelessly addicted to hats, corduroy jackets, cigarettes/cigars, chukka boots, long over coats, rock n’ roll, whiskies (on the rocks), and pens & papers! / … / But I still haven’t been able to figure out as to what became of that girl--My Virgin Muse, more like—and a philosopher’s stone of My Virgin Journal? / (But perhaps, it would still take me another decade or so to find--MANUFACTURE, more like—any convincing answer(s) to that!)
This entire poem has been composed on a couple of lined A5 sized grass green coloured post-it notes, too – with a grass green (almost) coloured fountain pen / Coincidence (?)
Saad Ali (b. 1980 C.E. in Okara, Pakistan) has been educated and brought up in the United Kingdom (UK) and Pakistan. He holds a BSc and an MSc in Management from the University of Leicester, UK. He is an (existential) philosopher, poet, and translator. Ali has authored five books of poetry. His latest collection of poetry is called Owl Of Pines: Sunyata (AuthorHouse, 2021). His work has been nominated for The Best of the Net Anthology. He is a regular contributor to The Ekphrastic Review. By profession, he is a Lecturer, Consultant, and Trainer/Mentor. Some of his influences include: Vyasa, Homer, Ovid, Attar, Rumi, Nietzsche, and Tagore. He is fond of the Persian, Chinese, and Greek cuisines. He likes learning different languages, travelling by train, and exploring cities on foot. To learn more about his work, please visit www.saadalipoetry.com, or his Facebook Author Page at www.facebook.com/owlofpines.
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