The Squeezed Face Poem by Naveed Akram

The face was squeezed into a lotion that suffered,
From the corners of the uninhabited mountains
To the guilty ones crossing the rivers of hell's right.

The face was tumultuous, granting peace, giving ire,
Like an utensil of scrabbled heaven, little lioness
Was there with the benign beggars of the whole heart.

I had the thought that died all along the heated fire,
Passing frozen messages so cumbersome and rich;
So much money has elapsed as I stand inside with fright.

The face is fault of mine, not money or gold or a school,
But those agitations real are the realities of a golden
Binding child, a boy who feels the face with some awe.