Pleasant Radio Poem by Naveed Akram

It was on the first storey and floor on my offered road,
That glass shook to written pieces, displaying zealots
That interfered with drunkards of the painful memory.
Marvellous stations on the radio defeated my dinner,
Their roads were the same emperors of the single men.
These would take the windows of chariots far,
Carrying the streets of a day inside cars and vehicles.

Off the book, a first floor stained the blood of the mind,
Telling my chiefs this tragedy, sitting on the roof,
With houses called mansions on the radio,
Keeping and throwing, throwing and keeping,
That glass shook to written pieces, seeping into bodies,
Then the records were still playing,
The music still delivered its pleasure.