One Begotten Peasant Poem by Naveed Akram

One fine day a distaste occurs to the whole cast of characters,
The pen stands on the edge of the world so that we can act;
Shocked by the head, I acted according to the need of operations,
From it was a kindness of the eyes and ears that sensed a luck.

Having satisfied myself, a little-used branch got stuck in the henchman's
Carriage, and it was driven by the unique gentleman in mid-space.
Horses nuttily fixed their abode due to turning of the water-wheel,
Into a partnership lasting a full decade, like two swimming mates.

On a much larger scale, the bud was grown to be a godly worker,
So much was the need of stipends grown from the lake of banks,
Money was the gold of my gods, golden injections seemed trivial,
Like some third factory of the super-red world, a blood was afoot.

I want this twenty-two year old in a watermill, the adventure is thin
Due to dying men whose praise is begotten by the peasantry.
The war is waged by the ultimate deceivers who have royalty
As their missed mark, a stone has been thrown to see humility.