Naveed Akram (15 December 1973 / London, England)
His Face Falling
Maybe the face, maybe the face,
It subsides and loathes never itself,
Liking its licking contortions like a leaf,
Falling cheeks and falling branches.
Sudden air fills the room of a sanctuary,
God has blessed the deathly sleepers,
Fumed by the prospect of the Hereafter.
You desire HIs Face, but find a solution
To the puzzle that Satan has not accomplished.
Treasure awaits and looms beyond the shrunken path,
A straight path pierces the sight,
A straight road leads to adventure
So bright and divine that lights come forward.
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