Of The Citadel Poem by Naveed Akram

He with his thighs entered the rank of a guard,
Fully visited by the sick and brotherly as a dying soldier,
Making me hurt from his filthy endeavor,
Living another visitor, and all his fever,
Like a thief who saw no bards outside.

The prisoner of the citadel sinks into the chair
Of his own eggs, living a little by the clock,
At the end being dim and dreary for those
Who swear to show the visitors of soldiers;
Breaking to disturb is like a throb of quickness.

Much jabbering works ahead, to astound
A few gristly fellows with bones and
Windows for the bones and joints,
These doors are always passageways
Of the archfiends and dramatic toys.

See him walking and breaking the two heavens,
Living awards and also the show of entertainment.