I Am In Your House Poem by Naveed Akram

I am in your house that belongs to the head and heart,
I am in your finishing phase of life that is retiring from the heart.
But this I concoct, a concept from the head, of innocence
And dread, but the same information connects to the other side.

I am inventing a foreign man, counselling and cancelling is his might,
But bustling bushes strike the heat, as we lay him to rest
In the midst of elegies, parcels strike the heart, striking is painful;
And so the thieves acquire the vegetables and meat to sell a wight.

The wight invades us with bristles and thistles along the thorns and spines,
Spinning towards the fallacious belly of cooked motion, very thin movement.
A cooked human awaits the foreigner who belongs to his house,
I am man enough to admit pencils and pens of luxury to write the moment.

So chuckling is compiled, a call in the air is heard by children, so as to find
The man who did movement and lace, disfigurement and disgrace;
So the man is a suspect of inner strength, but outer infirmity,
A man who reveals a false speech, one that patriotically sings disaster.