Naveed Akram Poems

Not a night partakes in joy of regional history,
That I howl in the hole of strife, the triumphant
Weapon is adorned by the barbaric elements.
No night enjoys the barbarians called beasts
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My habit is my sensible time,
One heart of my life is in my time.

My honourable line is supposed to be a sign,
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In every day, night, and all place,
My quest is the question of still life.
My face is beaming brighter than light,
Love lurks, love hurts, with all-embracing
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All is true that declines in the worst way,
All we make a proposal to remakes the document.

The authority of the one who is certain is compared
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If poems are the truth we are the truth,
For poetry is a stag and I am a pony.
My march is rapid and frivolous and pony-like,
But the dispersal of poetry is captured.
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The star shone towards the centre of the heart,
The heart is my sun and the sun is the heart that shines.

One should don his cap to submit a treatise of justice,
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The large doors are full of controversy,
Hapless items of hardness fall in and out.
They forbid the wrong attack, a full bite,
The wood is of the wool, of the garment.
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My car is caring for the door,
The daughters of the sudden drama
Encase themselves in divine whipping
Of cream, we stagger and search
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Snow has fallen due to the war,
Snow may fall each year for awe.
Piling up, it soothes the healing heart,
May your skin be alert and corrupt.
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Under the moon is an ocean of anxiety,
Underneath the waves of doubt is an abyss.
You must submit to the realities of blessings,
Your employment is precious beyond all care.
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