Naveed Akram Poems

Commotion is stronger to feel when near,
The agitating sphere crazes us when to adorn.
Censure must be made of the despicable,
A funeral has appeared openly for those back.
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Rough edges of the pen shrill my mouth of the month,
Amalgamation of a product worth competing for;
The foreign enemy resides in the clung pencil,
As straight sides of the square clamber into shapes
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Pompous talk carries benefit for the cranium to break,
Its use was essential, yet abandoned now, but how?
Mildewy relics smash the head, like an ache of redness,
The blood will turn into cake, or whatever the brain decides.
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The compilation of aggression is a far-fetched book,
It has bonds of degree, the findings are there inside.
Inside the body and its soap of heaven remains are clear
Over the waters of our own bodies, the corpse is clearly us.
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A mansion blackens due to the night of its laughter,
You similarly betray nobody when you are the house.
A palace erected by decency corrects the longest paper,
You artistically endeavour from a seat to express his concern.
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The effects deliver a penalty, for them we contrive,
The inventors are awake in the old yard, picking and solving.
May they all lose once and for all, in the efforts to investigate
What may be the solution for your problem so highly regarded.
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The semblance of a man contains fury,
Force is this semblance, offered by the unique.
My golden appetite occurs sometimes,
Open the gates of freedom when ill.
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An announcement follows an action of dire strength,
The maddening relief has made guns and rifles.
Your hand rejects the firing of men, the whole band of skills,
Then finally a singing and tiring song mastered itself.
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This house madly speaks to the throat of wrong,
Hastening its grasp on the young, a felony has hatched.
This house runs deep to swallow for the pen
To write a fortune of darkness, of sheer desire.
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This star awakes for the kill, just about there, to stall
And swear its strength of purpose, inside the hemisphere,
Like a bud of a flower, like a sentence needed answering,
Of awkward knowledge is this sun of ours in times of dread.
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