My Tormentor Poem by Naveed Akram

My tormentor takes fright, his presence overwhelms me,
Blushing I see into the light, bashing my head against his soul.
This compartment of action complains from the heart,
My imagination puts episodes of pinching and paining into light.

It is unseen knowledge of the light so dark and obscure,
This light is darker than the rest of commodity, than the soul.
There is nothing drastic as this action of the night and soul,
For pleasure we wake and master our chore, the real awe.

My tormentor bewails in the night of so much awe that he cries
From the tears of blood and gore, the martyrdom is sure, we
Abstain from the asking of questions again and again,
Like a monument of the tall flowers, the tall saints and powers.

Where is his authority, now that prices are paid, jokes are delayed?
His crying seems abruptly vulgar, his authority is sickening to the touch.
But tears flow like the river of heavenly discourse, like the authors of books,
Inside the mind so delicate and rude, inside the soul so hard and cruel.