Naveed Akram Poems

A single teacher abandons the wastelands,
The lectures are to be found in the relics;
A study is bound to occur in the tropics,
While the concentration is poor in the desert.
...

I am the challenger of the night and all it contains,
It darkens the sword on your side, but I unsheathe;
To fight is to injure, and to ride is to bruise the shoulder,
My horse is me, I am my horse, for it pleases me,
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I am bursting when I am disappearing,
Powerful is the pulse of my hand and arm,
Pulling me in the chosen direction,
The lane of my troubles, the road of my ache,
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One day is another way to propose the answers,
One day expects your time to slide into a chasm;
Open the ways to men who fight and conquer,
Their strides are longer, their strife is sacred.
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The list of my crimes is like a gust of wind,
The wind is slow due to duty and time.
Many men investigate the multifarious men,
But scientists are the crawling men, the variety.
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The size of the stupor is size of humanity,
My Saturday and Sunday are good food;
This is language and the stigma of a rudeness,
Food is truly marvellous, as real as rainbows.
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The way we die? Death is an obstacle,
Must it hurt to train the hunter or be hunted?
Bruises are daily, yearly, infinitely, like liars
Of the night that sparkle diamonds in the sky.
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The faint path of the past is a delicate thought,
To my doubts is the knowledge directed with thought,
I have a road where men of old are banished,
I have a past, I have a repugnant past history.
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Most of them got lost, the men of hearts got drenched
In their own sweet liquor called blood of blue blood.
I have a murderer on the loose, he strays far and wide,
Objecting to shunning faces, believing in simple phrases,
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To give your money is to give your soul,
I have gold as shiny as the pencil of light.
One writes letters of height and breadth,
The calligraphy has a sound of the highness.
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