Wooden Poem by Naveed Akram

The wood of the trees is burning like a star,
Its a satan in the greenery, a star of hideousness.
The wood is cold, fierce with ice and snow,
The star has been absorbed and all is called now.
The wood of the branches is stronger than many,
This field of ashes is a strong joy to watch and enjoy.

My tree is enjoyed by joy, and magazines of bullets
Stream the natural alleys, like the valleys of old and new.
The arrows are different then, but here they are wooden
Bullets, inhumane solidities of stronger stone, forcing wands.
It is a satan in the making, invigorating and joining,
Liking the joining of minds, as absorbed ice is stealing us.

The trees of wood abstain from sound in the wind,
Their personalities absolve the sinners of the wound watch.
A clock reminds us today of the wooden trees whose
Branches absorb what is permitted, feeling diverse
Structures, fooling us with strictures fond of your mind
That envelops the brain, wooden in size and story and heart.