We Gather With Luck Poem by Naveed Akram

We gather love like mothers who listen to their speech,
Everything is fair, every woman will bow before Her Maker.
Men will do the same according to the customs of squires,
Menace them not in the woes of their existence, nor their reason.
Forming them is blind,
I am blind,
And he is bloated fully of water,
Like the insane gesture, of ill milk among tones of luck.

We are a crowd of followers sent off to our quests,
Prized only by those dressed in milky garments.
Not that earth will form me again, for I am blind
Like losers, like the blood of the race of humans.

My speech is earthly, of grace a certain quality,
So denounce the statements of men who qualify an oddity.
The ray of light hits the mad man's touch
As he sees it hit him in the eye of eyes,
Watching constantly for his own blurry sins and visions.

For I am bloated and I am unhappy with luck on this
Shoulder that bears fruit,
I am blinder than the folk who mark their reasons.
Reasoning is a majestic upbringing,
And quite recently my quest is observed,
They are the imperial, and I am the resolved.