Naveed Akram (15 December 1973 / London, England)
Branches Of Hardship
When branches sting the thumbs
And a rotten bone afflicts grimly;
Then moods of murder overshadow
Slightly, too many hands are bent with bows
Of long nature with arrows of gold.
My skull beats in time with clocks of towers
Grim and dim, lumps of livid blood bellow
Their stains on stubborn styles.
When brimming food lies placidly on plates
Golden and silvery, those burdens are renewed,
Littler men find feuds of elated men;
Hardy women are few of the men,
The hardship cancels.
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