Icebergs Poem by Naveed Akram

Good is the basis for this island,
A joking commands this iceberg.
My ice is cold and the air is hot
For we hear all the atmosphere.
Why do cold tears arise for existence?
My hot air gives me oxygen
For the end of this island is near.
This raises us in sleep,
The sleep of all sleeps arises,
For the death of an iceberg is accidental
Like that event.
Where is this good of an iceberg?
Why do you joke about my toga
That I wear when I sleep?
It was an Eskimo who entertained me,
Not a Roman.