My Strength

The day my strength desists,
Is the day my time is at an end.
From loving of my shadow
I speak of a darkness to behold.
It is the same darkness that is loved
And sculptured by the lunacy of innocence.
It is the day I stop praying
And a time for forgiveness,
Like a religion and a forfeit,
Like some crime and children to smack.

The day unwinds as if colour is black and
Black was white out of love.
White is the sun, not gold or bronze,
But silver is the moon, not like the white of the sun.
You will stop moving around,
And you will succumb to the pleasures that arrive.
Too many seconds are made by the Lord,
And so many are tied by his string
To uplift our hearts as solid drums of gold,

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poem by Naveed Akram
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Proper Prayer

Pray for the other man, holding his task in your hands,
Due to the expedition of the soul and its colleagues;
Fixing a pressure wherever the habit is profound,
Making sure the survival of another human being,
Is totally correct, walking is of this morning
With happy air as you have corrected, finer people
Who witness your cruel number of teachings.
Prayers bring joy to the believer,
Like no other prayer has been performed,
Other than the one you have accosted for the sake
Of the One you have believed in, trusted and never forsaken.
Pray for Him who indulges in no sin, carries venom
And eats a part of the plant, a part of the dessert
And one condiment a day.
No other prayer is to be performed,
Just only your soul is in turnabout.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Nature’s Feelings

Words do not describe the feelings inside of my soul;
The experience of winter and summer encompasses the world
Like my soul and the rest of the souls that work and turn
According to Nature, Mother Nature, that also cannot describe
Or reiterate the surge of emotions and feelings.

To expertly decide the future of the globe needs your feelings at heart,
And the heart has many turns and praise can eliminate you.
The world of praises has not enough to constitute a victory for the soul,
Nor do the animals and birds feel at ease just with your feelings,
For at their hearts is also an emotion erupting and awaiting to be called.

The heart and mind creates a description of the soul,
The soul has painted itself on all of Nature, for Nature.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Be So Boy

The riches I emerge with are strange so cold,
Innocent gold! Higher wealth is around that is told.
A rich man hurried towards his house
Finding a woman called his wife with a white blouse.

The rich life has arrived for all the luck,
Melting far away, just far too far like muck.
The gambler is to be, a corpulent man
Shall pain the hurt, the sane man is in Afghanistan.

How rich will life be now that gold is not silver?
Silver is like a snake, whilst gold shines so quieter.
My wife likes new clothes and new food
In the realm of our understanding, our attitude.

You shall blame the innocence of tense muscles,
You shall climb new veins with blood and angels.
May life enjoy, feel too much a toy,
And then let Winston Churchill be so boy.

poem by Naveed Akram
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The Real Men

A real man,
Who draws his breath from life itself,
Meets another man; both are wildly clad,
Looking around for wealth.

Business sounds like music,
For both are wildly clad,
Life rings with mirth and joy,
As musical syndromes fill the air.

They chatter with delight,
With never ending music,
Beneath them are their henchmen
That are trampled by their song.

For real men, what are they thinking?
The song to sing is delightful
But short-living, as the henchmen
Are taken all-of-a-sudden.

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poem by Naveed Akram
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Sad Summer

This sad summer sun is too small in brightness,
It fades towards the other end of the day,
Loathing it requires patience, of the highest order,
Facing me is this weather, of sunlight and light rain,
My living gave a heart to the wilderness.

This quiet ending to the day may cause trouble,
Or this patient man in the whole of this kingdom quietens.
May he leave us, when the hares and rabbits jump in the season we see,
This sadly brings us to a close,
The mad hands of fate close our meteors to a drop.

Patient men are losing their anger
When they have to wait and listen
To all the apostles in the sun, under the sun,
And we deprive others when we speak ill of this fabulous star,
This summer, the stars or planets remind me of nighttime.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Wheeled Feet

The feet have wheels of young endeavor,
Their signs are numerous and weighty,
For the weeks go by to succumb to pain
As the days roll by, as the days always sigh.

My Wednesdays are Thursdays,
And their feet ache for the rest of the saying.
These toes are bitten by the cold and frost
That starts to rot with age and reasons.

My ice pertains to processions,
The avalanche of the hungry abode;
A real rest achieves much in the worst
Of crimes.

Why do feet munch at the ridges?
Many solutions are pondered over
After the doors are opened to sin.
Why do my feet retain their time to expand?

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poem by Naveed Akram
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For More Leaves

Why do trees belatedly call for more leaves?
On their boughs or their thorns or what?
These treacheries number in the thousands,
Tread on the calcium of bones to discover
A real rally of strength, sorely missed by us.
Stay with certain strength, stay with the masses
To overwhelm the crowd of dignitaries,
As infantry collides with the atoms of despair,
Rocketing really with relaxation.

I have down there a dangerous woman of dis-beliefs,
That range from one moment to the next,
Overpowering the majority of thinkers
With their own smiles and tributes.
Why do certain plants also shed light
On the very stars above us?
The disbelief is tremendous,
And overreaching, so their partners are liars
Unto the ultimate beliefs housed
By thinkers.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Keeping the Tunnel

I live adorably aboveground,
Acute clearage is promised from the upper stations.
The building is ablaze, abiding in sin and hatred,
Breathing with bread and butter can be lonely
And hard, far too hard that bodies shall mash and briskly burn.
The enemy is too harsh on our soul, as souls are in now poverty,
And states of mind must be obeyed, force is a new compartment.
My conscious mind is commemorating a day too distant from today,
As cures are like the illnesses, currently in crisis, formally bound to heaven,
Or hell, as the problem states.
We fail and deliver bread and butter to our friends and foes,
Living ashore is near the water, far too soft a planet.
My dead friends must never die, they must be in hurt
If they deserve it in heaven.

poem by Naveed Akram
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A Gathering

I loath all that does not exist like His Gathering,
Killing this ideal has been rejected by those nearby.
They are my neighbours, they are my pride,
But what does it mean to the denizens of mighty homes.
I see his home, and the clothing of His Soul,
What does he do in the trials of His Life?
May I wish him good luck, good time,
So that presents are collected forever.
Come to the place of joy, the worthy position,
It worked then and there to be in the same position.
Must we keep the souls apart, or together? we do not know.
I have to postpone the meeting with my boss.
It is a compelling story I have to tell,
Of the yellow river, the river of love,
A tributary or headwater that builds fever,
One that is like love of him and only of him.

poem by Naveed Akram
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