Naveed Akram (15 December 1973 / London, England)
Offer him roses, exactly the same roses
You picked in the middle of the day.
Light is travelling from them, forcing its way,
Like the roses in colour, in bloom, in love.
The colour is red but not light,
Just scented like the red rose.
We form levels of straightness
Of our comfort and condition.
The eyes feel sumptuous yet our bodies do not,
The roses must dazzle the individual.
Comments about this poem (Red Roses by Naveed Akram )
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