Naveed Akram Poems

Grief is the joy of a quake and slumberous acts,
It caresses the heart of the beloved as he speaks;
Grief is a mountain that I climb for the world to see,
My accursed fellowship is a remainder of fortune and lies.
...

I must wave my hands and flagella like an animal,
But theory coincides with theory and an animal cannot die.
I wave my hands in the direction of a man who believes,
His suddenness is an alacrity, a mobility, an agility.
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I see him in power, awe has impressed my mind;
The buildings are erect, those stars are brighter than me.
As men bulldoze the economy there comes an arrival
That shakes the sheikh's hand and declares Unity.
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The butterfly in the blessed sky looks up and sways,
Futile flight is a gesture of the polite, a moment of days.
I see cacti as we buy credible toys from the market-place,
Stinging is singing, like the crying dolls over my race.
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Before the dawn, there was a war,
Each war was fought like this; a stranger twist
To the good old lie, spun by the one who wins.
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A poet is discerning, he is of sport, he grasps finality,
A poet is distinguished in the extreme, by alacrity.

I have a bone, my poetry has a singular trait, and I laugh
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My love is of the heavenly straits,
My authors labour nights and days;
Their writings fulfil and fill the hard
Ways of distress and mild release.
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You must oppose me if I don't believe in God,
Too many drops fill the ocean as we speak,
Too many waves have struck the shores of your
Territory, for they rumble and concentrate for Him.
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Your wisdom is not foolish like the wit of a fool who hits,
It caresses my wise chest, my hat and stagnant body.
If I were to be defined by the philosophers who love us,
Let the statement reverberate in the heavens and earth.
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Why do I suffer everyday and sit silent from exhaustion?
When do tears try a little silence, from the heart and soul?
My authority is my blessing, his brotherhood stays an author,
But Allah is the Author Most Great! Allah will judge your soul!
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