They Brought Me Joys Poem by Naveed Akram

The airship brought me my books,
One toe of its body was an automatic clue;
It was my library, offered by paranormal beings,
To keep the birdsong of my hopes, the throng of
Many and so many humans; I must see those long
In hours of darkness.

The song was for my sarong, the noises were nine,
Our noises were ten, but where are the wrong fingers?
Their hands bleed from fright, a catalogue of worries and figs,
Like the bag of all joys and pains together,
As fast as weapons and fire spreading to other destinies.

I tripped and fell where no marital club abided, when beings
Were ugly as thin air, with a sarong too big and bag.
My lips uttered the proud engineering of their illness
And technology, so fast an endeavour of praises.

The slip of desire was made, when a long authorship became
Just, like an inner joy of song, when too many readied on the hill.
My burst is an explosion of distinction, but where was my burst now?
Let the cliffs of our coast be higher than you,
Letting them fall is your provision.

To let this calamity, be a philosopher from the heart, to the heart.