Strange Mists Poem by Naveed Akram

Up where the long avenues besiege mountainous wastes,
A little star went to heaven like a little star in smallness;
Up where the strange mists roamed delighted in existence,
We matched the ideals of a bygone age in such light.
The pressure is when your eastern skies meet the western,
The volumes of ghosts persuade a lighter fuel of art.
This mountain of the highest art is a clothing of rock,
Fixed in its splendour as a massive gale and force.
The belongings of cherished beings sustains the night,
When prowess displays itself in mighty sounds of signs.