Naveed Akram

Gold Star - 25,124 Points (15 December 1973 / London, England)

Naveed Akram Poems

1481. My Living And Dying 9/15/2009
1482. County Court 9/15/2009
1483. Seize Him 9/15/2009
1484. Colloquialism 9/16/2009
1485. Diagonal Line 9/16/2009
1486. The Kaiser’s Government 9/7/2009
1487. Feel Sorry 9/7/2009
1488. Sin Of Man 9/7/2009
1489. Gang Of Peace 9/19/2009
1490. Commander-In-Chief 9/19/2009
1491. The Room Of Clocks 9/19/2009
1492. My Perfumer 9/21/2009
1493. Colourful Dreams 9/21/2009
1494. Felons And Talons 9/21/2009
1495. Flowering 9/22/2009
1496. The Moment Of Truth 9/22/2009
1497. The Sin Of The Land 9/24/2009
1498. Answerable To Lying 9/24/2009
1499. Natural Disaster 9/25/2009
1500. Purchasing Power 9/25/2009
1501. A Splendid World 9/27/2009
1502. Beneficial 9/28/2009
1503. An Excellent Man 9/28/2009
1504. The Battling Of A Nation 9/30/2009
1505. Memories Of Youth 9/30/2009
1506. Seeing My Acting 9/30/2009
1507. She Shrieked Outside 9/30/2009
1508. Wearing A Shirt 9/30/2009
1509. Infinite Nightmares 9/30/2009
1510. Ill Humour 9/30/2009
1511. To Abhor The War 10/1/2009
1512. Books Of A Reader And Drinker 9/28/2009
1513. Happy Health 9/28/2009
1514. My Ache 9/29/2009
1515. Seas Of Words 9/30/2009
1516. A Distressing Bedtime 10/1/2009
1517. Perils On Skin 10/1/2009
1518. To Combat 10/1/2009
1519. Wrestling A Foe 10/1/2009
1520. Don’t Disturb 10/1/2009

Comments about Naveed Akram

  • Kaitlyn McKenna (1/16/2008 7:00:00 PM)

    Naveed is a free human. Free to believe, Free to fight, Free to want, free to need.

    Way to go Naveed!

    5 person liked.
    2 person did not like.
Best Poem of 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.

Read the full of For Every Storm

My Chest Is My Knowledge

My mansion is my chest and legs from the years gone by,
I grew up wanting rewards and ideas amply designed.
With questions my father understood the rhymes,
I was little, he was sadder than the rest of martyrs, who died.
How different was the beauty of the face in lights of studios!

My manliness or success listened to the eyes of my mother,
Scratched by eminence, surrendered to the pages of pleasure.
Books were books of condemnation, pride and revival,

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