Down Below Poem by Naveed Akram

Down below blew the wind of great strength,
It a spitfire, it a blown quantity of air, it a waste.
High in the air, we flew like birds of prey, incurring
Wrath, for we lost all strength as endurance.
Forcing the clouds, our utterance bespoke laughing
Gas, anaesthesia as it is called, a fitness of hearts.
On the stick we rage, like a gap of eternity, filling
The void in rage and relaxation, never yellow for fright.

Down below, the wind swept its glow, forming traces of silver,
White like the clouds, lost in the glancing fashion, lost in soul.
Glanced we did at pain, in the cockpit of heavenly disorder,
Strange was feeling, stranger than the pain, rather global
At the axis of the pleasure, father of all attributes of flesh.

Those with minds endure strange calamities, lots of blood
Loses over time sold to the right man, the righteous men of old.
We felt addresses of the places in our head, flight selflessly endured
Like icicles of mighty storms, forcing the ill ways of electrical power.