He Mastered Nothing Poem by Naveed Akram

He mastered nothing of irony,
Not even words on a page running
Away like careful notes of the pen.
He followed the leaders and readers
Into the library of horrors and marvels,
Where whirring red books lined the icicles,
Deep in their own conversation,
Like cabinet-ministers or prime ministers,
Or even the presidents of delay, accusations.

He must not step on politics,
Carry it forth into unknown regions,
And destroy the evidence.
He must do some of the magical tricks
And aromas escaping from perfumes
Of words, and the clauses tied around.
He fell on paving stones, he stepped on them,
To mildly accuse a child of weaponry
And disorder, the folly of man and his weapon.

He set a resonance over the cracks,
Noise and bustle was around their ears,
But the readers questioned a holy dispute,
And then professors turned their pages still,
To find new logic under the bone
So loved by the beauticians.
He must consider the old habits,
And abandon a reality of the highest wishes.