A Miserable Godly River Poem by Naveed Akram

No idea listens quite like godly matter, it hears and speaks,
In ways of rivers of milk and honey, beginning from the roots.
Language occupies the soul as godly men make scholarship,
Constantly teased by tedious works of penmanship so great.
My stream is thunderous, with joules of electricity so small,
With jolts of work in unity with strength and utmost zeal and effort.
I see the ideas beginning in me, for worry is an ideology written,
You've no idea how easy is my task of strong strings, of weak hymns.

The godly men die on this side of the river, it is the River Nile,
It is the splendour of the nations of the kings, sprinkled with shiny
Sequins of silver, golden necklaces of necromancers, arts of arsonists.
You begin to adventure gaping at sphinx and pyramid like the onlooker,
Telling one laughter trick, showing a detail too sudden of monster.
My language multiplies, and the derived goal shudders at my doing,
For the deed, is my supplication entered in the king's preserved tablet?