Naveed Akram (15 December 1973 / London, England)
I Was Running
I was running with my friend yelling behind me,
Running behind me was my friend.
Fierce white columns of dancers thrusting towards our hearts,
We trudged and murdered the soils so swiftly
That there were broken bits,
And these bits they used with their souls and soils.
The great way to sprain the ankle,
We countered their gestures,
Yelling behind me a smoky statement
Hopefully to drift across and burden.
I was running rapidly, hastily forward
With my friend who felt his dream
Chunks of asphalt clouded in my face,
Concrete happened to be the haste,
As this dream became badly aware
Of the warriors behind my kitchen door
In this waking world.
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