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Demons Lurk

Over hatred a hurt is spoken,
Those demons lurk anointed,
With cherished horns of antelopes,
Washing iron with irate arts.
Open the defence society
And let them rightly anger
The troops travelling workably,
Fitting with mobility, as striving
Ceases to be a pleasure of hurt.

I seek the memories of ivory
That stain irony of illness,
Instigating a hat for the book
Or tones are forsaken.
Naveed Akram
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: evil
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