Roses Are Calling Poem by Naveed Akram

Still they are roses so sweet to the smell as musk is to gardens
Of gold, of silver, of bronze.
Do not understand the men who hear sounds from the wilderness,
The calls beget calls, wedding the legs and arms with thickets,
Vegetables are shouting across horizons of trees, like little jokes.

My rose is blond, like the hair of an actress, like a boulder of beautiful
Chocolate, just inside the box of delights we called Panther.
My Albert Nobody is a guard so obsolete, he crawls in,
Inside the layers of the study so diligent,
Do not understand this man of intelligence.

Many plants revolve around me, so they will be around,
Like animals of the lie, of the liar and the malefactor.
They dwindle, and daunt the civil beginners in life,
Causing the earthquake, cooling the habits of a day.

My rose, my rose is splendid, like autumn is supposed to fight,
Opening the border to the priest, feeling the qualms of a speech.
Leaders are told to forget a region of joy and jealousy,
Theirs is the penalty of youth and frivolity.