Naveed Akram Poems

Mother of ill fortune wets the sky with tears,
Munching air offered against status laws;
Moral certainty depicts decisions from air,
Air speaks tonight with breathing from us.
...

My album of thoughts is an army of pleasure,
My pleasure contains the thinnest thinkers;
O where are they who call themselves philosophers?
Babies are them, children consider them to be so,
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An echoing blue will enlighten you,
So the shepherd arrives to greet his sheep;
One day you will set to light a heaven
And give money to the dead who leap.
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I sped along the road to a mother-city,
To call her the one to be moments before birth,
As death revolved around the centre of health.
See me after one man destines,
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The bedspread housed a cobweb
Of claptrap and chairs fully of white;
The reader of lights saw butterflies
Blowing into each other so flights
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The well of madness drifts into the sighing zone,
Where a heart deserts another market of deceit;
The aliens of dedicated murder are upon us,
Just like the pack of wolves arriving in the dark,
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Pursue the compass as a companion, likely to emit
What radio we reach as an avenue for the blessing.
Dark hearts converge merrily, worsening the creature,
Cleansing the see-through slippers of thought only.
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Leaders off those gifts surprise someone most
On the day of departure as soon as possible.
The executioner lazily rests his laurels not to be messed,
Not enacting playing of soccer or rugby.
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It is one amenity of the laces,
Footwear stands on the floor of blue bricks,
Fading into the existence,
Like an essential flaw of the men and women.
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His face shunned my eyes as they glared
At mystery of the arts and edges;
These men were fellows of happenings
Or events, yesterday the burden was aloft;
...