Treasure Island

Naveed Akram

(15 December 1973 / London, England)

A Blast


A blast of behaviour ripped the muscles,
My machines are best with angels;
It is fire, where the fire burns after,
Only in hours do reasons lift glamour.

My laughter dealt with fear and hatred,
Hidden were the giggles and smiles aborted.
Fire smelt like smoke as distinct lines
Formed in front of the mirror as signs.

What explosion is this, in the sight of my eyes?
Hatred is best in taste over heat to agonize.
My worry is the same as mouthing the deep meaning
Accompanying laughter, helping smiling and abandoning.

Submitted: Sunday, February 01, 2009
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