Naveed Akram Poems

The sword clashes in mighty strokes with the stone,
The stone splits from the massive tone of the alone.
These slumbers write a mischief and outburst,
To be booked and looked at, to be accursed.
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Death creates anger to some who think it,
It married your flesh to your eternal spirit.
Life carries my burden as long as I comb
The hair of breath and breadth, under the dome.
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An obstacle results from a living of going berserk,
This is clockwork, occupation, business of brickwork.
The barriers we cross are like that for the opening,
Offering are loans and pluck, the distance of beckoning.
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Love must spare in a way,
Its inner sides do sway.
Love is innocent when we engage,
Importance of its meaning is a stage.
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A ball rolls in dozens of ways,
Like dice or spells of magic-days.
The game we play is to entertain,
You must roll dice and it is hard to attain.
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Take a lower place is this institution we call happiness,
For then the dogmas are reduced, forever a pledge is witnessed.
This sadness is my place, letting freezing temperatures
Make us a simpleton, a sensible robe to wear.
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Sending to the other half a letter,
I write towards the edge of insanity,
As royal favours mark the considerations
Like oil of the gun and oil of the pun.
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I say a No to life if I'm a doubter of trades
Or a rejector of wishes for another being;
Throughout my career the lesions are separate,
Brain after brain resound in the heavens
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The bags of fun one destroys are nothing,
Gels of the loose change combine to fester
And cost the individual an arm and leg.
The funny men of the decade are murder
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