Naveed Akram (15 December 1973 / London, England)
A sound uttered by the same sonnet is unique,
You bellow in the extreme, unlike my sonnet;
The laughter attached is liking me and you,
But my poetry has love behind it, behind it.
This simple recipe called sounds of letters
Places me to say what I like about the way;
It is the way of the proud men that I speak
And not of those who shun and become remorse.
This sound I read as a letter or two shall accompany
Me and others of the same crowd, calling them
Not ignorant people, not backward groups
And not stupid or horrendous individuals.
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