Travels Poem by Naveed Akram

The road up to the Acropolis
Winds around the hills
And the souvenirs carried their treat
Like a famous puzzle in the heart.
In the future Turks will make a new way
To the recent joy and pills are not made
To make him go up that way
To the Acropolis.

Inside my heart is the proud mistake
I managed to speak of the world of Tissues,
Of bodies that concert blameworthy sighs
Of ill-health, of distress and any hotel of luxury.

I am now glorious, like a cushion in a bedroom
With a Turk who loved my harbour:
Inside is the really fun part, the organ
Called the Heart.