Like A Secret Poem by Naveed Akram

If we die like a secret and hide silences,
Then understand this and die accordingly.
For whom is my word to, and who will carry?
The books of seeking pleasure are beyond,
This call to happy distances measures the small.
I am so early in considerations of the upper abode,
My subject is love, and all it entails, like the feather of
A bird that tingles in the flight of a thousand years.

If we live as a monk or steward then this flight is formed,
Intoxicating the produce, wearing the clothes of robes.
It is love that engineers a relief from tall sorrows,
My happiness is of a star cancelling other giant stars.
I am so sought after, I am so expelling a human,
That flight martyrs the brain, like a granule of hatred.
In this temple is disgust and gold, in it is drawing and art,
Like the shapes of food, and the lions of roaring fire.