Naveed Akram Poems

I devote my arm to my endeavour,
The real result of my army and response.
The arms hacked at the mirror of my life,
The shouting of a century is upon us.
...

A man of the woods carries his belongings
To a hut, where he proclaims a message
To his family, and restores himself with comfort.
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They crowd our hidden imagination,
Only by embarking on such a journey
Do we expose their true nature.
Mortal superstitions deal with vampires
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Twisted as a snake, the man is pausing to reply,
Response is unlimited from him, loathing him,
Clothing him in ways known to the scriptures,
Finding him a distinction for the whole people.
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Not many people are little,
Noticed and betrayed are some who are little;
Warm weather arouses our suspicion,
Chiming creates disorder as the little arrive.
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This crossing kept my eyes watery,
The marks of my command became abnormality;
The beginning of my prose was bland,
Fearfully, this writing was somewhat grand.
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Return to God, find dozens of those lords,
That bind our souls as if they own the role,
Just ice is splendid work in one whole bowl,
Let water bend the light as He affords.
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Towards the end of our time
We miss the friendship and food;
The days behind are but silent thoughts
And the months seem endless.
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The drops from my eyes are of perfect water,
This is my demonstration, my reaction and emotion;
Suddenly tears well and clog my eyes,
I am tortured by a remembrance so powerful.
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Stand and watch, for the account,
For the abuse and acquaintance,
Unless the aerial is suddenly there,
And imperceptible material is not viewed.
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