This Inner Line Poem by Naveed Akram

My bars are stars and guards, the inner line,
So carry my fight on the life of boards, the inner line.

So the blackboard needs awards from the helpers,
Teachers, lecturers and professors have beards, the inner line.

My daughters and sons bury one another after joy,
My container is my concealment of chords, the inner line.

Let snakes and ladders be the game, of a near relative,
Some have animals and mammals one affords, this inner line.

I may begin to clap and withdraw so closely to philosophers,
My butter and bread is tale and story of awards, this inner line.

I begin to look at standings and understandings of doom,
My book is this poem of the utterances and hoards, of this inner line.