To The Funeral Poem by Naveed Akram

I came home to the funeral,
Liking the battles of weeping,
For the burial had no impulse,
A little man was about to see us.

He altered the scene for times
That altered us as people of death,
The death was supposed to be wrong,
That death altered the pleasure.

May we see black colours
And then white colours of surrender,
The matter was to sympathise with,
Starting to last for a decade.

Let his return be to our eyes,
And let the kitchen come for food;
The whole battle with the deaths
Brought a doctrine of belief.