Naveed Akram Poems
For Every Storm
For every storm there is a room
And find the palace now,
From deserts are a tomb and gloom,
Where clothes must just allow.
The clothing kisses us on cheek,
When effort made us worse,
The cloth we wear is rather chic,
And worry is a curse.
The storm shall grow at all the speed
That problems make us mad,
You did not follow, or then bleed
As madness is your dad.
The Eminent Historian
The eminent historian will write books
For those in love with the crimes in the world;
The honest historian objects to my place
In the middle of nowhere, the place of a
Thousand worlds, in the sight of lace and space.
The lace of the shoes congratulates the role
Played by those in endeavour and jokey joy.
The straightforward criminalist wishes for the end