My Own Names Poem by Naveed Akram

My names are fed to the choir,
The choristers will lose our space
For the instruction.
The names of our fore-fathers are inscribed
In our hearts, in those hearts is heat.
The pen is sold to the buyer of blasphemy,
He swears against the names I own.
My own job has a penny or two away
From becoming a solid command.
The commands are total and complete,
Fair and happening to the whole choir.
Names will sort out fancy and medicine.