Painful Page Poem by Naveed Akram

Painful Page



The pain is on my page that calls to the heart
That beats with the reading of the words
Intended to enlighten the few who are wise.
If I worship from those words like the running river,
I call myself nothing like a blasphemer,
For fortune beckons the wise one who appalls.

The pain is like a fir tree glistening in the snow,
Pages run deep in the book to keep, in ever knowledge.
We see it receding letter by letter, as the heart
Mistook the pen for the den that demons deserve.
But pleasing to the creature of the night is the pen of ink,
Dazzling and piercing to the sight like a raging bull.

My pains are my thoughts entwined with hatred and love,
Pages after pages dismay the day I stole the treasure.
The reading of a few hundred books is sufficient for me,
My labours last a day, memory is my disease and cause,
For it is the remembrance of the Almighty that lurks and curls
Like a hill to be deserved, in worship and repose, in obedience.

Friday, November 2, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: painful,words
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Naveed Akram

Naveed Akram

London, England
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