Treasure Island

Naveed Akram

(15 December 1973 / London, England)

The Air Was Bright


There the air was bright as the morning scare,
This evening it was fair, with mild wetness due to cares
So meticulous that natures were supreme and just.
Their air succumbed to the bright stars of this night and day,
More of the goals sprang forward, more of the words opened
So far that fast speakers sprinted too hastily and rudely.

The strong oxygen was completely worn by the uniformed few,
Their prophetic nature offered a knowledgeable success
To the ruined of this land we call a soil and trumpet.
My evenings were fairer than the bellowing winds and thunders,
Hurting the feeding men who slackened in the rain,
Churches of doubt undermined the hundred painful men.

Submitted: Monday, January 20, 2014

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (The Air Was Bright by Naveed Akram )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. KEEP AWAY FROM MY BRIMMING BOWL, Om Chawla
  2. I Seen, Jose Torres Junior
  3. I Seen..., Jose Torres Junior
  4. Duet, John deVries
  5. Chuh, John deVries
  6. Blurry, Jose Armando Guzman
  7. Salome (Rubiyat sonnet), Gert Strydom
  8. See everything pure, gajanan mishra
  9. When I hold you tightly against me, Gert Strydom
  10. the gramophone record, Somanathan Iyer

Poem of the Day

poet Henry David Thoreau

My books I'd fain cast off, I cannot read,
'Twixt every page my thoughts go stray at large
Down in the meadow, where is richer feed,
And will not mind to hit their proper targe.
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]