Naveed Akram Poems

The fingers are the elusive elements of our youth,
You had just built your hands from the orders of care.
Our melting points are subtle and completely arousing,
Let the fingers of your handsome hands be enticing
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To the captain of my heart I complain as sacred flames,
Below the rise of the sun,
My deeds are done, for we are sublime.
A ship is sailing freely due to frozen wastes,
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My mansion is my chest and legs from the years gone by,
I grew up wanting rewards and ideas amply designed.
With questions my father understood the rhymes,
I was little, he was sadder than the rest of martyrs, who died.
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Needles in the feet fear us as we ask the questions,
A little pain is there, hearing me as I speak,
Jostling with rage and pain of the ever sweet.
My neck is ambushed, an array is at my joyous right,
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On this earth you are worth a world of doings and deeds,
A sidekick, a barter, a goal has been uprooted from you.
About the heavens. we time ourselves as fire and lines
Of poetry, lines of buildings and words that concern.
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I owe it to your interests as a dealer of bravery pains,
In the thinking there has passed many tumultuous passions,
So shocked am I of knowing your compassion, men held their
Breath, women hated the anger of the moment of facial distress,
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Beyond those realities we see are here as hills,
Shuddering with deadly drums, cooked in the fire.
Ask those you see and observe with abilities of the night,
Trained in glory and fighting power, so speedy like the light.
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When you work it is musical, we are brainy and sane,
Don't speak of sincerity when physics and astronomy.
The speaking child is a bored dilemma of straightness,
The path is gained from bored men who slam their tongues.
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The heart and soul hurt one another when they are friends,
Foes and walls are towers to be described by the tall ones.
We see a heart standing on its shield, waiting and waiting,
For you must have patience of the fittest, the wittiest.
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Last night, the man was coming from the falling wall,
So as long he was dying and crying like an absurd baby.
His lamenting offered a sailor his hat, a soldier his boots,
For the spiritual way was not for those wrapped up in life.
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