Comments about Naveed Akram
For Every Storm
For every storm there is a room
And find the palace now,
From deserts are a tomb and gloom,
Where clothes must just allow.
The clothing kisses us on cheek,
When effort made us worse,
The cloth we wear is rather chic,
And worry is a curse.
The storm shall grow at all the speed
That problems make us mad,
You did not follow, or then bleed
As madness is your dad.
My Guests Were Late
I reached up to face the clock of time,
My guests were too late and I did frown.
I kept searching for words to elate,
Those friends considered the motions of stars.
It was patient of them to steal the sleep,
My odds and ends seemed bitter in comparison.
I reached up to no longer care,
I struck the bed from too many words.