The Day Shall Be Late Poem by Naveed Akram

The day shall swear to the books of gold,
These tomes decide the worth of generations;
In them a day collides with atoms of the dusts,
Winds blow them out to the seas of brine.
The nights become delighted by your illness,
In their workings a diamond is placed,
Wishing for some certain proposition
Outdoing the doors of common men and women.
This night outdoes the other nights,
In their loving kindness is a disease of hearts.

Live with those hearts until shuddering happens,
The days and nights swear that their oldness
Was a duty for the sick and lame, the infirm lepers
Stranded in a muddy path of toil and orphans.
My bending nature is a musical find, a box of relaxed
Men who pretend to be certain like philosophers.
In their workings a ruby is placed due to hearts
Folding into hearts of toil, the everlasting toil.
Once the toil has been broken by the toys
We challenge the heartbreakers of this oldness.