At Times Poem by Naveed Akram

At times my astonishment beleaguers me,
It takes away sight, hearing and speech.
My flower is the primrose, suitable for my age,
My art is the rose, a feeling that is esteemed.
Where are the praises of the deathly men?
Their time has come to end, a leaving present,
Or a returning gesture is kept for all afterwards.

At times we dissolve in rains and sandstorms,
What is now beautiful became late and sudden,
What is my rose in this empowered state of mind?
Why do joys fly like the dragons in windswept land?
My feeling is my quest for delivery of happiness,
Where do dragons live when inhabitants are near?
Open then this life of reluctance, with fear and sorrow.