First Visions Poem by Naveed Akram

The first time he woke,
Abandoned pits centralized,
With hurtling shoots
And a while it took to shake
Off the roots of blemishes.
His consciousness made discrete,
He was separated from flows
And stalks of the vegetarian
And lout.
That isolation, that draft
Was small and budding too much.

I see him faster than the memories,
Mashed with estranged fevers,
A third stage of a moribund life
Or is the death something to speak?
I find this commune a miracle,
Frowning a little of the heat
That happened without young crowds.
The last time invades me and him,
Isolated is the dual-vision.