Sunday, February 28, 2016


I go up slopes with humour in my legs,
I go to the slopes where rigour is turbulent;
My books in the head display a situation,
My book is relaxed with its condition,
Its second-hand condition, doomed and final.

I go to the gradient of the service and pleasure,
For the moment is happy as the hills,
For the brain destroys like a shark in water;
My sloped hill is a goon and ghost for the
The time it stays in the head, in the heart.

I repent and repeat to distance myself,
I go to the hill, the mountain and countryside;
My walking is my running, mine only,
For my legs and hands feel pressure and pain,
Like the cylinder of health and the circle of hardship.
Naveed Akram
Topic(s) of this poem: hill

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1/23/2021 5:42:13 AM #