Dark and Deadly
Dark and deadly are these pains that reside in my head,
One falters with chilly winds, the very cool friends,
Then the winds are breezes, more breezes to be bled.
Dust and dirt are elite elements for all the men with a bed,
One seeks misery when there is misery that attends,
Dark and deadly are these pains that reside in my head.
Mighty rivers applaud the taste of the truly bred,
One stays in a whole sea for the corn that defends,
Then the winds are breezes, more breezes to be bled.
When do waters boil? And where are the flowers dead?
One picks up plants forcing the very grand ends,
Dark and deadly are these pains that reside in my head.
The delirious means used by some are to what fed?
One of us mends hearts too fragile, one that bends,
Then the winds are breezes, more breezes to be bled.
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poem by Naveed Akram
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Soft Accent
In soft accents the language results,
From what you say and endeavor,
Leaving the wastes and treasures,
Feeling your own puzzle at the eyes.
I have to cooperate once the astonishment
Heartens the blood, as the blood is my residue.
I had meant to be pleasing to the eye,
I was sorely disappointed due to ill-health,
My reasons for living were reduced
And afterwards the garrison was a bundle of joy.
After supper the same day, we began in threes and fours
To decide the fate of our ancestors.
We looked agitated when the handkerchiefs were rinsed
And with water the ladies of the night mistook
Us for children.
I have trouble talking to this woman,
I have reappeared for the main question.
Give the brush to my hair,
And comb like I do,
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poem by Naveed Akram
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A Cozy Nation
I make a practised drivel to be drained,
Please do not overlook the primary colours
That sustain my vision with drivel, to be duty.
Bowl the innocence into the alley of trouble
To defeat with honour the curses, the lies.
Now it cancelled the pleasure, the drivel,
It returns however and displeases profoundly,
As a directive it is weird, it cancels.
The connection has been realised,
It is no worry, it is not any worry,
The real vehicle of displeasure may be flown
Not driven, not expelled can be the vehicle.
In the show of veins, the human body is the ultimate
Vehicle of driving quality.
The body is the deputy to the brain,
A processor is both, even the brain is a microprocessor,
Spelling is readily accomplished, by my tailor,
Who operated with agencies of intelligence.
One fishes the scandal of this time,
With the intellectual agency, a particular organization
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poem by Naveed Akram
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Theatre
To keep a man alive in the theatre,
You need those who laugh to laugh,
You must be a play, and an acting
That lives with the very life you create.
Once the act begins you must perform
And out-endure the others, or die.
Will you answer the questions of the playwright?
His mysteries are unsolved by you.
To keep a man and show him the role,
His eyes light up and give you a secret look -
A sight of wonder, a real funny sight.
What is the choice of the director really like?
He, the director of worth, is selling you a secret:
Really you're good, you're real good.
What is the point of sentences that do not show the action?
Dialogue can occur and selling tickets begins.
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poem by Naveed Akram
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Love, An Event
Love happened like an event, it cried,
It worked along the brain on and on,
One left it reside in the heart, it beats
And it won for five seasons, victory achieved.
The one love in trueness was fair, the one love was your job,
It left no stain on the heart, it cushioned the hearts of every man
And woman and child,
So that purity saved it, and the love of humanity would open up.
The doctor of love and hatred sang a tune, fully whistling
Its strength and virtue, the two keys to existence;
One must contain love, but haters of blood shall weep
If divorce is scheduled, for marriage is wine: addictive and weeping,
Strong people are led to worries, to responsibility,
And they who sing of virtue or sing virtuously
Shall attain their reward without harm,
Obtaining divinity and blessing, the very strength of angels.
I can not see them when I walk, but love is seen
In their flight of a thousand wings, or how many they grow.
The wings to love seem strange, innocent, and absurd at times,
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poem by Naveed Akram
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In Stars
The star has passed its test and examination,
While the planets walk their fill as they fly
In the playwright's path, the writers and poets
Also swim in the heavens, like jokers and charlatans.
The heavens overwhelm a minority, the false upstarts
Of this century that delivers a promise of gooseberries
And strawberries in the universe of fruit,
When the wish to be strong has come true.
Each man who rides a camel shall share the desert,
Without a horse the soldiers of the cavalry-charge expel
The warriors anyway, for the riding has finished
And heavenly death outrages the majority of thinkers.
Battles on the ground astound the wars in the heavens,
These places see a light of dusts and extinguished fire,
A rotting paradise of delights, a region of fateful war,
That turns into discouraging appearances for apparitions.
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poem by Naveed Akram
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This Is The Place
I have come from a long distance to be patient in this place,
I am remaining, I am staying where I am to stall, and this is the place.
I have to be a perseverance, for my progeny shall require dedication,
The same direction that is to be followed is surely then rainfall, and this is the place.
To love another being because of his virtue is surely the journey too great,
May feet and hands be covered, so that hearts are unfurled to reinstall, and this is the place.
I have a sport for my deity to love me for, and that is the supreme joy,
It entertains my soul forcing its tail to end up in a pitfall, and this is the place.
My shoes are invented by the great teacher of manners and education,
What can we mean now that I have shown you the truth to scrawl in this place?
A building will collapse forming love like an army so bladed by routing,
The sincere truth is to love the friendships and kill like a snowball, and this is the place.
My days are numbered, the nights have been worded by the scribes,
A living voyage of the seas entails my progeny to be small, this is the place.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Family
My master is my mother who creates my writing for me,
Weathers of the year let her survive the coming year,
This carries on regardless due to long health and
The practice of the lying down and standing up.
My master is my father who causes the curse of the purse,
Instilling pity in the hearts of his children,
The beloved creatures of a long, long time;
Life shall matter to them all as it has mattered to everyone.
The children are the masters of their day and night,
Babies cry forever now, infants sigh forever now,
To see their parents in the light of the sun in its wake
As it ascends; and after it descends, the sun shall wave goodbye.
To the family, a star of this health bursts into tears
To welcome the sisters and brothers
Into a new living that enlightens, smoothens and soothes
The kind doctors and lawyers involved in the process.
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poem by Naveed Akram
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Vampires Have Disappeared
Gouge the eyes of feminine lust,
Those dreary men do give a thinker
One good stare, and you compel her to order her
Into a riddance, one of those funny songs
In the mind of the ejaculator -
His life has spanned forever,
Now that the Vampires can hurt
Those in dire need of trouble.
Eyes shall giggle and awareness be spoken
Through the eyes of a monk who lives as a cleric,
He can never ever sight It - The Demon.
“I spoke of a creature that arrests our stay
Into the world under the Sky, with blood it
Shall accomplish. And forever this way
Is the accompaniment of dread that I speak.”
Now, and then, a master of sorcery has bellowed
Strange words of nuisance to the existing crowds
Which are under the Sun of the Blood Brothers,
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poem by Naveed Akram
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Sea Encounter
I caught a massive shark
and kept it beside the raft
half out of the nightmare waters
with its head dangling from the
hook.
It gaped at me and didn’t attack.
It didn’t even flinch, or roar -
It was silent as a shark.
It desired life with its weight
Being big and bigger,
Thrashed and assaulted
by the sea creatures. Where are
the other fish? In the sea
where they dashed and whirled
and slept. This one
has now ended like a ghost.
The other fish do not mind:
It is covered with ruined scales,
Hard and close-packed.
Its gills were consuming
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poem by Naveed Akram
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