Treasure Island

Naveed Akram

(15 December 1973 / London, England)

I Sold My Soul


I sold my soul to the wind
When it blew too loud and narrow,
Like the innocent howling of an infinite
Day that coincided with its night-time.

The wars concentrate on you,
As they are waged on the image of your country,
Feeling like an accusation too late.
Fierce winds retaliate,
As they purge the corners of the globe
With terror that exterminates.

Soldiers die and wait with their crying,
Forcing the weapons to conquer the ill
And weak who corrupt their own souls.
The selling is too costing, the buying is
Too forced, to be any sort of dignity.

And nations crept to the edge of their seats,
When the throne of the leader could not make
Death too comfortable.
This deadly encounter was a gaseous
Urge from the sky,
That held all lamentations
Of older eras, this time the war
Was a fight of the blood and water.

Submitted: Tuesday, July 15, 2014

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Topic(s): war

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