To Soothe Me

The limbs of the saviour congratulate me
Since they are drunken with stupid words
Vilifying my actions then rescuing me.

The curious men among us stridently condemn me,
For my limbs are in limbo
Inwardly afire.

See the intrigue of the drum we call peace,
After the fires of our whims have sung,
The intrigue of day falling connects with my light soul.

I see with an interim, the grasped landscape
Of solutions and metaphors,
The relaxed splendour of our own majesty.

This intercourse with the crests and troughs of life
Are like the seas and lands together,
For even mountains of hatred condemn me.

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poem by Naveed Akram
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Blessed Cats and Dogs

Cats and dogs, aren’t they blessed?
Causing the country to insist
What the blows are to the chest.

Why do little angels work so caressed?
Making the country to assist
Cats and dogs, aren’t they blessed?

My soldiers in the army are with a blood test,
Keeping lines and dictation as a checklist,
What the blows are to the chest.

Amazed by the brilliance of those in the contest,
Canine help became something to co-exist,
Cats and dogs, aren’t they blessed?

May service feed the animals of conquest,
Domestic keepers will arrive at their crest,
What the blows are to the chest.

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poem by Naveed Akram
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Hiding From The Family

He is hiding from me when I see him loving our family,
This hiding results in laughing, to find me, and the family.

It is busy in this hour of dreams, full of sleep I become,
When the lover of my dreams comes to bury the family.

The burial of a man is hidden from me, the chieftain,
Burying him is against all odds, a mere calamity, but the family?

You are hiding from me, laughing at me as lover hates,
Butter shall creep from my limbs attracting calligraphy of the family.

The whole episode is a farce of impossibility, my love
Has been extinguished now that you have been cavalry on the family.

This Lord I trust is not hidden from me, who sees everything,
He is omnipresent, and you are an absent being of the gentry, no longer of the family.

poem by Naveed Akram
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My People

My people want a flower to grow,
They want their country a solution;
The fluid flows and the hearts combine
So as to discover victory and happiness.

My people want the whole garden to burst
Into life. So a solution has come:
The arrival of a priest, a just man
Whose only longing is peace for generations to come.

Actions are not just words but acts,
They divide the camp into plain areas;
My people have a desire to gain miracles
From the priest, yet without success.

The man of understanding supplies words to complement actions,
Making changes to the people
And avoiding harm for the people,
The people start to play in their beautiful garden.

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poem by Naveed Akram
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Iron And Silk

Iron keeps dirty habits when united,
Followers of the metal shall be rewarded;
The contestant proves his worth,
After the judges and the judgement,
Before this nothing has a present.
Anarchy is housed by the intellectuals,
Intelligently the rules are spoken
And their moods are represented
By the organizations of the spiders.

Crawling about, sneaking towards
Their goal, and lifting their webs,
A reality has emerged of mounting
Pressure, often the windows are open.
Thoughts of the evening weave
Their ways towards the horizon,
But spiders wrongly imagine our
Difficulties.

Their iron is their silk, and we have strong

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poem by Naveed Akram
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Knowing Your House

I don’t care what they say.
Pain is not, will not be a black beauty.
I stood at the edge of a living room
Chair, thinking of all the teachers instead.
Wedged in was the bar in the doorway,
I had to raise my chin and hit it,
But too late, my neck dripped with blood.
Undone,
I was not knowing the game instead,
Houses were weird today.
My mother of all people
Knocked on the entrance-door,
Dripping with raindrops and sweat,
I was a lover of mothers that heal.

A storm was bursting with summer heat,
Building since noon,
The other children had raced in,
Their shoes scratched across the plywood floor,
Placed by the previous owner.

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poem by Naveed Akram
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Language

Languages are spoken by the masses,
Sought by the fame and religion,
Equal to noone but the classes,
Abject are they who control the origin.

Sell the message I speak for a fiver,
In the form of words excellent;
I derive these solutions to the screwdriver,
In face of fodder of the livestock over violent.

I am farmed but farmer who speaks only,
Does not write but righteously speak,
Only to damn the animals that are lonely,
The lonely are the very dying cheek.

Language is the most dreaded monster,
One of them is in the museum,
Offer it a letter of a barrister
So that laws are in the atom.

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poem by Naveed Akram
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Rest on their Souls

Rest on those soldiers who fight a way called war,
Like them and loathe them as much as law,
But altogether celebrate the taste of battle
That is pungent on the mouth of the passer-by.

Rest on the lovers of unrest, of cauldron, of stupor,
On the lovely rest that requires our understanding,
A loan has been committed of strength and justice,
Of war and peace, and of law there is one.

Rest all days then and there for always those who die,
For their laughter is smaller when fresh with life,
They want to retreat into the wilderness.
They would love a little loneliness and misery.

Such is martyrdom to those who object,
On the last one warrior who fitted succulence
In his mouth with a chewing action -
The blame is on him, when he will be general.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Own Place Of The City

Kevin was born in his own place of the city,
The predators engaged in conversation.
This haunted land was joined with him,
An early enemy concerned him, wanting, waiting.
In this ruined city there lived a boy called Kevin,
Once his life gained momentum they engaged
In conversation, forcing him to concede his secret.
Those merchants of evil concealed their evil
And wandered into the city forming bands of evil.
Wanting, waiting, the vagabonds learnt what fresh news arose,
Learning yet again, the giants rode their fight to conversation.
Kevin was in a place of safety, as the giants rose
Like plants of goodness, roots strong,
And always like trees of old.
Kevin never gaped at their weapons and words,
For gigantic help forced him to recite the world.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Gods and Kings

Gods and kings have collided, again
The sandwich is stolen by the higher gods
And then vendors will be fancied
Who steal and marry, who reach royalty.
The gods and goddesses will dispute
On their offspring, on their religion,
And on the schedule of a blessed creation
That came with vibrancy and laugh.
Gods and kings will never omit queenhood,
As she who worked hard shall reap rewards
Of a higher nature. Their progeny shall be exalted
From the lap of the sea, from the conquest of the moon.

I confer with the gods, and I have direct knowledge
Of all of it. Of each and every word that fits.
My role has surpassed miracles, yet I am no god or single deity
Let alone a higher one.
Higher men and women come from up above,
Not inside a soul or special blood.

poem by Naveed Akram
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