Rivers, Waters Of A Variety

Left to us is a lake of anxiety,
Understand them, see how the liquids roar.
Water is an ornament of details,
It is the hearth and heart of some troubles.
A sea works fine with someone,
I am fine and fair with the sea.

It has walls, walls too magnificent,
O Medium of the heavy rain,
Bless us anyway to make much too much ruin,
Inside the chamber of horrific water.
Water is the holy blessing of deeds,
The fountain is near, my friend.

I observe from my flowers in the head,
And tiny drops are unleashed by the millions
As one single magnificent, marvellous fountain.
Jagged and muddy so clean is this true monument
That is worthy of anointing me.
This is the gargantuan fountain of hearts restored.

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poem by Naveed Akram
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Over You

I talk over hearts that conquer and be silent over you,
Fixing the headache too late in life and family over you.

I open the breasts of the lame and innocent, letting leprosy
Attack the enemy and not us so much easily over you.

Many have died seeing friction boil wands of fixation,
Authority stated that death was illegitimate doctrinally over you.

These wanderers heavenly hold their arms and hands
Seeing why they mutter and collapse eventually over you.

The sight of burdens are so swift that we have been conquered
Lying down, in the snow and puddles of water floppily over you.

These men are suddenly attracted to feuds and rains of heaviness,
Lessening the authority they can impose so fearfully over you.

Many have condemned the friction built by builders of homes,
They are destroying us by the day, always in time forcefully over you.

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poem by Naveed Akram
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The Tub Of Water

By the tub of water stands an object too frightening,
The steel dagger awaits bloody ruin from the majesty of evil;
Into the place we surrender our will to the enormity of disgust,
In this place of ruin we see everyday objects become murderous.
To the touch it seems a murder has been committed,
Blood is desired beyond the mirrors, beyond us.
I heard practically no sound, so astonished by the silence
I carried by own living body to the realm of the other side.
Camps of ruin, camps of blood were before me,
Antagonizing my brain and mind, my guts and feeling.
The tub of water vanished and became a tub of horror -
A monstrous man pushed up, with bloody wounds
And too many gashes to the skin, ripping apart now.
I had to disgust itself with my action,
I had to discuss with him his fate,
The fate I gave him, I never forgave him,
I hated his being with the dagger to release
Him, and me from the clutches of horror and blood.
The dagger is enough, it is enough
To employ in reducing the man,

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poem by Naveed Akram
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Estimation

The president estimated the war courage,
But the believers argued plaintively as a heart
Would beat faster after the exercise of the muscles,
The president just calculated according to his taste.

The chief-generals perched nation-wide, safeguarding like birds
Over their chicks in a nest of surrendering whispers,
In order to crush the rebellion a quelling of forces
Had to arrive for the good of the logical city and state.

Justice appealed to the vicious, an act of war on the self,
But the president himself fought bravely in front of the barristers
Of the nation and realm, by negotiating and trivializing the sins
Of the forefathers and ancestors of endearing skill and precision.

The tirade pursued the ends of the earth and soil we fed,
Potatoes were uprooted and crops of other sides left to die;
Dying was the death, and death was to die, the famine
Had been fabricated, after all.

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poem by Naveed Akram
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I Call It Hell

They fell into the place called Hell,
Its height fell into an abyss and drowned in disbelief;
Its width collapsed from the barrage of fireballs,
As its flame grew in betrayal and colour.
This tiny planet has warmth compared to the dance
Inside this Hell that we earn for the bitter tasks we take.
They fell as we did inside a minute,
Hours sped by to congratulate fire and warmth,
Our maidens or humanoids connected to falling,
International calls inflamed their being.

My height touched the television of hope,
Offering my praise for the heavenly swings
And the music forbidden to the artistic few,
Those from the downward struggles feared
A little evil that swindled the space of mates
And advanced husbands.

Women can complete the deal that consumed the sums
Of corpses collected with their secure minds,

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poem by Naveed Akram
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Godlinesses

Godliness has no reality when there is ghostliness
In the mind and the spirit.
You may learn far into the future,
Far into livid danger,
Into a large maelstrom over the other one,
As if the thinkers and last resort were mentioned
But your thought-stream may not.
Your thought to make is actually too fabulous
As a chronicle of time after death.
You stay at this station you have earned
And receive reward for your lamentation.
Hurrah! The rewards are few but much like you.
Godlier is the man in the window, in the doorway,
And in a house you have committed. Why are you so high?

Godliness has no reality when there is loneliness
In the body and soul.
You may learn further than anyone,
Farther than purity and pure bravery,
As much as a store of real wisdom,

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poem by Naveed Akram
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Brown Bag

Brown and blotched the bag marred our running
Of appearance, the very present we conserved with our running.

I kept back from you the very day we took the accident,
Aimless searching could not find us preserved and running.

This fastened knot would not untie, just as nerves bleat,
And they never sleep for their activities served, all running.

One man’s brain whines and cries and bleats forcefully,
As its eyes are near seeing, and they have observed, always running.

This day I connect the legs to my torso, this dear old pain
Wishing my body asleep, kept always curved, anyway running.

May months clarify not fail just as disasters beat the body
Like a flogging instrument of death undeserved, then running.

How did aliens fight our bags, ours heads and the backs
That accept the capture from the soul we reserved as running?

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poem by Naveed Akram
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We Are Generous

Please the poor with some money and riches of high nature,
These people need love, full of loveliness, and we are generous.

To individuals of highest repute I look at their heads
And then their hearts and wait for the day to arrive with achiness, when are they generous?

I am not poor or anything to do with the poor who are poverty,
Hearts of theirs gain momentum, we merely pass our test that is gorgeous, for we are generous.

The spoken tongue carries society further, and those without money bring
Us more money, but bring them no poverty, and bring gracefulness, we are so generous.

The tailor needed cloth, the blacksmith needs his metal, and the accountant also needs,
What of those with the flame in Hell? Their heaven is not their greatness, but we are generous.

Money has no objection to the riches being found, to the oil being discovered,
But fun is in the very life where living is explored with incisiveness, we are so generous.

Then talk never today but mutter with huge meaning, and never sleep too long,
But meet your creator with a giving heart and the soul is incredulous, for it is generous.

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poem by Naveed Akram
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Amazon Queen

Pounding hellishly the rain has no business destroying me,
My journey is never to end.
Pounding continuously is the water of a scientific kind,
The one we call acid-rain.
Pounding relentlessly are the drops that collect and form floods,
We are too worried of them.
Pounding on us is the liquid I call a storming rain-fall,
In the Amazon rain-forest, where the long river is also.
Pounding on us is the humidity derived from the weather
That never ceases in its changes and profits only.
Pounding heavily and beating the branches is the windy-rain
That lives among the Jungle, that lifts the river
And makes it briefly breath.
Pounding the earth are the Amazonians and their Queen,
Biggest warriors of the undergrowth and canopies,
Huger in conflict than the mercenaries of a war itself.
Pounding on us is the Queen of the Amazon,
The River-Mighty,
The Bleeding-Woman,
A Woman that is Queen and aims to expell us.

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poem by Naveed Akram
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I Encountered a Dragon

If a monster occupies the clump of eyes on our face
We hate the return of senses to the tears and face.
One monster is commotion, two creates tragedy
As well farce, fodder and feminine curiosity.
For these she-devils do not undermine the soul
As much as dragons, talons from the talent, creative sort.
We needed the strength and the spirit, the afflatus;
What is the amperage they create from the breath?
Which impulse afflicts him, the dragon?
He needs me to answer him, yet I do too,
And to aerially combat him is grand with amperage
As I do be grand, the eyes can tell and demonstrate
And commence for all the time.
My sword is my soldier, an affray has emerged forever,
Between dragon and human-beast, what is the final result?
Only a monster like me can win, can win;
Killing the scales of yellow, I discover it is not golden but bronze
And yet I want death for it, for him, for him,
Upper class dragon!
I am upper class, and fatigued by the whole battle

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poem by Naveed Akram
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