Naveed Akram (15 December 1973 / London, England)

Rippling patterns swirl out from my feet,
Sliding over the edge of the party of breathlessness,
The far side of the world is a shelf on which to gaze
And be harrowed by the collisions occurring from suns.
On the day of a terrible water, here is the dense cloud
As it weaves its odors through the natural cliff,
Lending to the world a serene beauty,
With nostrils pinched shut, and rivers falling over
With the gusts of the vale and the murders of the men.
A submerged storm trooper is gaping at you,
With arms of regret, as you swim past the ocean of fire,
Bullets have been leaning on your shoulder,
Living a salmon and trout, swimming through the river
Of lovely sounds, coming up quickly with breathless delight.