Naveed Akram Poems
|5521.||The Silver Sword||8/3/2014|
|5523.||Learn My Farce||6/19/2015|
|5524.||A Big Present||4/30/2009|
|5528.||Taste Of Food||11/27/2009|
|5529.||“ghosts Are For The Telling”||6/14/2008|
|5531.||For Every Storm||6/29/2008|
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.
Poor Men Speak
Poverty is hideous and nevermore, its hand creeps
Into the heart of the body that you possess,
Riches bitterly combats your proclamations,
Rich men starve at the feet of their kindred,
But you are awakened by the songs of the birds,
As poetry says power is better than poverty.
Your throat is hunting the words for a poor man,
His rich life vanished, forced by chances and gambling,