Naveed Akram (15 December 1973 / London, England)
His mouth grabbed his wrists,
Without warning the boy enclosed
The area and spun a web of silence,
You warned him not to obey himself.
Staring at his sleeves the wind took
Control and the boy’s blood failed
To foresee the future risks.
The man twitched and switched,
The blade ran to the ground after turmoil
Had erupted, ribs were broken.
He sent the boy sprawling
And one eye was swollen,
This fight had lasted, everlasting light
Occurred to the boy’s laughter.
Mighty prison was the grave in thought,
Prisons were never worse in the end.
Comments about this poem (His Prison by Naveed Akram )
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