Monkey Island Poem by Naveed Akram

My hands were above the shadows,
In them my steam had risen to be vapour,
A gas merged into other gases,
Annihilating the wittiness of a day.
In his mental power a little talk ran to never-ever land,
Hissing in the shoulders of a wonder.
To express any number,
The wizards circled and commanded,
Those obedient were met with alacrity
And stains on the souls were hideous.

One of the higher monkeys bestowed
Grace on those with hands and feet,
Licking the dug-up sites,
Little like a monkey, more like a canine.
Urging the structure to concede,
The lowest barbarians transmitted
A much wider interval.
If no organ was to command and obey,
Then surely the drifting of a minor day
In collision was apt to see the reality
Of this monkey-island.