Be careful and then rest to make the Black;
The dead and those alive will wrestle clouds
Of chivalrous knights, too much to attack,
That flesh bespeaks on little brittle shrouds.
My worry pains me so, pains me until
I dropp to ends of drama: the suffered
So then are brittle and like daffodil,
To see defeat is sweet, and so backward.
My cares dissolve beneath my nerves in sleep,
I see the Black, the White and these fighters,
For they then lose their war with food knee-deep
In sand of deserts, deeply adventures.
What crying came? Where was my name tonight?
Names uttered gain a boast full of delight.
Naveed Akram's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Black Clouds by Naveed Akram )
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