The World Of The Doctor Poem by Naveed Akram

He is elaborate, curing and intellectual, so brain after brain
Rescues his soul when the doctor of doctors presides in his chair.
Let the carrot weep when you are spoken, reaching into a design,
The soil is the breeding ground, the ground enlightens all.
My doctor is a doctor, his station is like that of a surgeon,
Many constrict the veins, and arteries pierce the body with strife.
The stars at night converge at growing heights, then the pole star
Shines so bright that I wait for its destruction, collecting thoughts
So dismaying and gay at the same time, like a destroyer of souls.

He is to interpret the goals, he is a carrier of ferrets, little burns,
Little scars on the skin, declaring nothing of value to the skin.
He is curing us, he inherits our minds, like a real counsellor,
Who is strict when philosophical men enter his heart and sanctuary.
Executed are the names on the wall, their entry is forbidden,
For they are the dead of the world of heaven and hell, the reality,
The unspoken, the heroes, the banishers, the primordials.
My merit is his and his merit is mine, for the saying of a man is complete,
When the world is upside-down, flying through space-time like a module.