Strange Sounds Poem by Naveed Akram

My recovery is my recourse and accomplishment,
So may people thrive on the words of the press,
Wheeling on feet of so strange sounds
That the feeling of the words is resonant.
One felt too much action in the days of old,
That yesteryear of surprise and endeavor,
These masters who believe in the slaves of happiness.

My joy recreates the old music, as the offerings
Order me to answer the press, and the printers who play
Like the whispers of the old road,
Recoveries offer me a grand old tune.
Playing on the piano masters my sound
For this melody of the air fixes on my face
And back, loving me and my recovery.