An Adventure In Life Poem by Naveed Akram

My boy is burnt from turning up from the hot sands,
Thick-leaved plants surround him in the shadows;
For he is oldest, proudest of them all as gifts and wars,
Their pistol shots can be summed from afar and away.
The negroes subjugate the area with some power,
Fanning out in every direction, to annotate the lanes.
Their presence is felt from every corner of this county,
Fingernails press into hands as whispers boil and burn.
Steep and rugged, the ravines are caverns of splendour,
A cowl is worn downslope, a baby seems like crying,
But is it the windy weather of the west that laments deeply?
In those days we loved all else, as fathers and mothers
Rolled onto their backs in chief awe of the adventure of life.