Naveed Akram (15 December 1973 / London, England)
Bundle Of Sticks
A little bundle of sticks was impairing
The vision, offering a zero to all praises,
But techniques mattered most.
Escape from the sea of material wealth
So that I can love your blessing,
Fulfilling the mind with its heartache.
Last year had been shredded into oblivion,
The birth and death subdued
For the numbers of our heart
Around the circles of this establishment.
A little bundle of sticks were ill,
Emanating from the eccentricities,
Liking emulations and devolutions.
My years yours, I evade the emissions
Of pride, adding together innocence,
Like a man in regret and soundness.
My stomach was out of milk,
Trying to believe in what to think.
My stomach was one of the stares
As if eyes could conquer the illness
Made by the men of maddening attributes.
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