Naveed Akram (15 December 1973 / London, England)

The talons of a man shall remain awake
To goad the dimmed lips of a man-at-war-with-himself.

The cloudless sky squirts a disaster,
To fashion the deranged into sanities
On the way to what is not asinine.

My claws cut and dodge the other birds
Who are men.
In their cribs the redness of their blood shines
Brightly, contradicting the veins.
In this sanctuary is an oversight,
That we are supposed to find,
And not mind to change into great dilemmas,
So that we gain more oversights,
Strangely enough.

The men at war shall define the century
In the cloudless skies,
When aircraft shake the shaken,
Where clouds of descriptions are complete.