The Crueler Tyrant Poem by Naveed Akram

I refrain from his thumb of thinking,
His fingers flicker, his feet fight,
Never touch his being with a speech.

I must take his warning as a dog,
A slave of his own house who wastes
And lasts for the duration of the holidays.

My friendship lasts, but he is the force
Overpowering my brilliant soul,
His force is strongly evil and obscene.

My touch is from the heart of the realm,
His warning is towards the real men and women,
Stronger than the good that surmounts.

My touch is this paper found by the thoughts
Of a royal leader, a Roman general of touch,
A magical atrocity, a mighty force of dread.

His death is after so many words on the scrolls,
His death is longer than the other sightseers,
His assassin mingles with the life of a dying tyrant.