Small People
Small people must marry one after another,
To keep small and happy together with one.
Their life is one busy, happier than a mother,
Cunning I call it, if short is a habit to be won.
Smaller than the rest, a crowd has emptied
The disease caught by the ill-folk,
And mastering the cure accompanied
Another cure by another bloke.
Short massive half lings are trained to kill,
An author by essential qualifications,
Who wrote that killing was an art still,
And that war was the problem of actions.
Yet war was solvable by the masses,
Intricate and statement-perfect,
Hungry, agreeable as damned the lasses,
Who came over like something different.
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poem by Naveed Akram
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Bedlam
It was bedlam, sheer chaos and collapse,
Of the city, the inner lot of buildings
Found in the country.
It composed of musical houses, golden shrines
And stationary and moving vehicles.
The bombs scolded me as well, lifted the lot,
Scalded me nearly, and wore my gait.
The running men were innocent, walking men
Were criminal.
Your city burned up till midnight,
Until fires were extinguished by the men of fire.
The city burnt again as the people recovered afterwards,
For they needed bandages and badges, fire was grotesque,
Fire made no sense, just not one sense, for it died
And everything died, when all was well, and afterwards,
All was well yet dead were some, and their families were somewhat dead.
The anarchy of this unique city fed as something else -
Hell on this world, hell to worsen the tracts of time.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Breezes
Hard petals of a flower still marry the breeze,
The wind changes every time, all the time.
What breeze is the wind that it freezes our tears?
Cold winter may apologize for our woes,
But does the following season become upright?
The flowing seasons drift in space, in the sky and stars,
When moons and planets reign supreme.
There the seas of blood marry life to death,
Obvious weather is too rude, too fighting our habitat.
The hard flowers under a different sky wonder,
And hard plants are not the same, they are like the tea of Earth.
Breezes are softer than the wind, the wind is kindness,
The wind doubles its burden on creation, as air shall be water;
Water carry on, water is the double trouble of water and air,
It seems the water made plants grow, made growth proper,
With mindless directions in the Sun.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Man Rides His Horse
To snare a thought from the deeper mind
Carries a message for the young and old;
This avalanche of my desire is created
By the acts that are mastered by the few.
Then philosophers force their barrels of beer,
The thin men are of the public orders,
The thick men are short and about the aorta
Of the heart, for they are essential beings.
Balanced minds recreate for the majority,
The puzzles are torn into fragments,
Denials are afraid of denials,
And forces are like whole avalanches.
Towards the city a man rides his horse,
They gallop, but he races for his force
Is about the traps in a society,
Fully the society is relentless.
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poem by Naveed Akram
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No Sage
No sage has record of the event,
These are false keepers of knowledge;
Influence of the worst monster
Falls on the weak and lame,
So events have the ability to cast shadows
On unsuspecting travellers;
A long thought has the ability to enslave
The keepers of illness, and this means health!
The black-clad creatures of a secret goal
Wink at the villagers, pretending to hurt them
In return for treasure, that has been kept for riches.
Misery and Woe spells disaster for the innocent ones
Who live among the informers,
It is harder to elucidate the issue!
It must be dangerous to swear to the dark monster
Called the one titanic creature;
Dragons have been disturbed,
A shift in behaviour has led to evil being retold.
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poem by Naveed Akram
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Drama With Cats
Dramatists reign over the people in print,
This surprising past contaminates the soul-like
Beings called Life.
The jeopardy of a cat is the cleverness
Attached to the brain that it hoists
In these jungle manners, juggling away
The night.
A ball has been placed on its head,
After the rush of dazed behemoths,
Carrying forever the trails of a certain
Sentence such as this residue.
Sculptors misname their cats and dogs
After a deity, and this spells a stroke of kindness
On the gentle furry animals
Of the past and future.
May we enlighten the world with residue
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poem by Naveed Akram
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The Dentist’s
Your mouth hurts inside for the pain comes from the teeth,
Pain is destructive to the teeth, its gums are bleeding;
Must we learn further help and admiration, or just weep?
First, the aching stops and then the dentist stops,
We all feel murdered, but why?
Firstly, mouths are meant for munching, fully chomping
The food residing in the head, feeding the brain as fast as it can;
We are not dentists, but full doctors, but full nurses,
As hospitals go, we stand firm on our teeth chattering away in the cold.
We felt absurd knowing your teeth.
The main worry was when it made me squirm, and then burn,
Too late, the drill was performed, with too much work,
And that was purity and goodness in the process,
For me, for me, and for those who call themselves the dentist.
We do find teeth a chore, always to be restored.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Fire or Happiness?
Taking a term of happiness is like folders of work,
To do this establishing action creates the handiwork
Of the devil. For his life is in ruination, his tears are solid
And not like water or oil, they are fine on their own, just acrid.
Take the man who spoke gently, he guessed and murmured
To himself, the one who knew a border and wall, he battered
The closet and its clothes of all the high features of his house,
And once he let go of his house, the clothes were ablaze, even the blouse.
Many who refrain from chit chat are legally married,
But the girl who loves happiness is on fire, bullied;
The boy is a gentleman who loves fire and all it entails,
Which is why he crazes for beams of fire, and fails.
Both are happy, and both are on fire from the flames,
Because, one is hating the other, and now no more names.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Fierce Storms
Fierce are storms when they first appear,
Killing the school, killing the family,
When strikes are managed in the atmosphere.
The allegiance forming can be a career,
Kinsfolk are blamed for it actually,
Fierce are storms when they first appear.
The damage is a conflict, of a charioteer,
Waging war of a storm additionally,
When strikes are managed in the atmosphere.
Gods are of a stormy nature, like a chandelier,
The work is able, of a tempest working abnormally,
Fierce are storms when they first appear.
A school admits us when the weather is to cheer,
How do we fight in class and work fitfully?
When strikes are managed in the atmosphere.
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poem by Naveed Akram
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My Name That Runs
Underneath the sea stands a river of silk and milk that runs,
Opening thoughts of you, the dispute of a month that runs.
I have a maze of worries that tortures the depths of the mind,
Offering me a solution shall be the ocean that is the millionth that runs.
One person is one antagonist, the anatomy of whom excretes blood,
Fetching horrible nightmares like those heroes of the labyrinth that runs.
Let the heavens be attached to the barbarians and soldiers,
One masters them as a battle that rages on as the zillionth that runs.
One will escape the rigours of youth to face a war on the frontline,
Battle systems need generals and wizards of the heavens, the seventh that runs.
I have my name engraved like a stone of weight, the grave so morbid,
One masters my writing as if the relics are as morbid as the trillionth that runs.
poem by Naveed Akram
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