With Thousands Of Years To Come Poem by Naveed Akram

Most of them got lost, the men of hearts got drenched
In their own sweet liquor called blood of blue blood.
I have a murderer on the loose, he strays far and wide,
Objecting to shunning faces, believing in simple phrases,
Like a man possessed, like a deluded swan in action.

I want him alive and hurt, with words for the dirt that dies,
A lot of service is required by some of the buyers he encounters;
His occupation is slavery of the highest odour and race,
Where the roads divide and sacredly spell the fortunate ones
From the not so older beasts of a slavery in our midst.

I have been enslaved now myself, for a hundred days,
Enjoying the garden with roots of gold and silver,
The start of a surgeon, an end of the curtain too laced;
This private sport is private bought, but I am enslaved in
The world at war, with thousands of years to come.