Punish With Whips Poem by Naveed Akram

Punishment encases my soul with the doctor on the right,
On the left is the physician of health and happiness.
On his brow are stitched ideas and impressions,
So thoughts are travelling.

My punished self interferes with the warlike man
In the mirror who refrains from pain and pleasure,
Wars have been swished away, wars have been events
Of giants and monsters that rivers can change.

Punish only the faint hearts, punish them with whips
And lashes of the wrong error, of lashes they hurt most.
Interior and exterior angles are gaining their ticking clocks,
Players of the highness are following the disciples of eras.