My House Rug Poem by Naveed Akram

My rug is beaten by the maid, as she stalks the room
With her own day, and lingers on with panic and trust.
So that is when I prevail and adjust the tale so rightly,
Bestowing the external ways of the man who labours.

The house is for me and all my family, like a yearly
Contract with the four seasons, and mistakes will abide
In the same place, fulfilling vows and creating marriages,
Like the animal kingdom and plant kingdom combined.

My house, my house, it is sweet, falling into the cosmos
At night, and at day is shines and resonates through the
Heavens, like a captured shell or undulating sea and island;
The favour is its, its is one of the many services in life we call.