Naveed Akram Poems

Here the hats that hasten the act
Climb on heads for the wearing.
To be quick the attire is solved
For thinkers have hats too sound.
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The future is our goal for the putting,
An appointed lot, denigrating the past
As if the anchor called the present is also
For the past, as the fulcrum is perfect and formed.
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Anything obscure and dangerous
We meet with eyes of heightened alertness;
Danger is a weapon for injury,
I found the injured man, then the locality
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Dim and indefinable is this place,
It is hard to understand why it is Space.
Of doubts is the black globe I am in,
This is Space, the true odd reflection of life.
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This modern dance, an entrance,
It certainly abides in me.
I call it the profession of my dreams,
The dream does not end until I awake.
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Singing and mocking is all they do,
Sitting and walking carries on.
See him looking and watching,
Levels of pain are mastered,
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The rich are not the poor, forming laziness
In the ranks of the workers.
A smile appears on the earners of money,
The art of effects is learnt,
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The whole of contemplation is upon us
When we drift to a trance of monumental kind.
This is prayer, the whole of imagination,
When invocation and supplication coexist.
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The final lesson carried a wealth of knowledge,
The benevolent teacher married the facts to our heads.
Our heads munched on, on and on, like saints,
Even like the muttering of priests engaged in prayer.
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The furnace of noise is obliterating,
Heat surges like a bird’s cry,
The crying of the furnace is like venom.
Heat is audible now, it never whispers here;
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