Trumpets Blown
The trumpet blew a wand for the real river,
A caliph will show his knowledge afterwards;
On the level of time one sign has been shown,
Demonstrated by the leaders of the world.
This time a trumpet has blown to mock,
To munch away the life of stones and money.
I have ordeals that stretch a lifetime of worry,
Feeding a frenzy is my cup of knowledge.
Understand a fault of mine to understand,
This mighty feat condemns the snow that is a river.
Falling away fast, a snowy monument is a relative
To the mind that thinks along family matters.
One trumpet connects to be me,
One sound has obliterated the only reminder,
It reduces its speed and calls on more sayings
From the fame that brought you near.
A sound from a bugle is cheap and full of it,
Bells are better at chiming forming me as well,
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poem by Naveed Akram
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Evil Rain
And if rain would to be blessed by someone,
Drops gather and sustain us well, water is emerging
A clear winner, a source of indulgence by the weakest
And strongest, hearts are blending now and blinding now.
They bind in mysterious ways, gluttonous approaches,
Noting the differences of a heart and liver;
They abide in the plays of songs, thrones of endeavour,
Lulling the pressure of solid accusations, disgruntled.
Let the rain be absurdly indifferent after the
Wall-mounted ornaments jog and jerk, stop and quirk.
Viscid liquids called blood adjoin to the other side,
Hell is the boundary, it seethes into the flesh when poisoned.
Wormy features have sustained the horrors and abominations,
One is in abject fear in wonderful torment,
Worms eat into the beliefs, and create spiritual madness
Or persecution, the passion of evil and bad.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Our Differences With Poetry
You balance yourself on these lines as the sentence is clear,
It differed from all the worldly possessions to the eye
As each eye was indoctrinated, each eye blinked to the sight
Of the sentences that were temporary, always exact and narrow
As well as sounding a whole quiet exception.
The power of poetry is great, as I have seen you with my perception
As perceiving is all I do in the face of danger, the dangerous words
Are an enemy to my own poetry. Your poetry is not my poetry.
Rather it is an inclination to sour beliefs and irresolute structures,
I am for one cynical, and I am also afraid lest a man decide to act on my word
With difference, and betrayal.
So off with your poet-hood, and me my own route,
The guess of talking thoughts is upon us from the rear
And I am in doubt as to the position I am in.
I have no more argument. Enough.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Water Flows
Any extraordinary water flows from the fountain
To dive into more water, this fluent language resents;
Labour terrifies our belongings and territory,
The guns blow their bullets as fast as the universe.
This wiser nature is earned by the one not wisest,
Deep feet sink finally into the sand or water.
Our purpose is found from the book of living,
We read in it the stages of crafts and existence.
Water may be finished, but one day the hills
Speak more from it than all of the clouds.
By the help of the eddy, this water spaces and wastes,
Fluids run deep in the nature of Nature,
Points of endeavour rest in the countryside,
Then pick thoughts from the swaying landscape
So as to become a higher person with water.
It hurried away, the water hurried away,
And caught in its currents, the ocean was made
And created by the whole work of water.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Theft is not Death
God is the one who tells us all is well,
That the genius has command over the cell
That is inhabited by a prisoner of zeal
From the political upbringing that can steal.
Theft is not a spy to be put inside,
Always to suffer a burden beside,
Which is the chain fixed to a wall
The one made of stone and very tall.
The towers of this prison-place are very strong
And do not have escapees or intruders who are wrong.
The towers are also with cells, too many bells,
Worse than the chiming ones of a church that impels.
Cell mates are fed with worms and torture,
With much hatred and darkness for the abuser
Of the system of prison, the distressed position
Of a man, not a woman, who was given a decision
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poem by Naveed Akram
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Powerful Whirlpools
Powerfully my forbiddance claws and buries you,
You dust the floor in search of food then.
Reflect and refract like light waves,
So that by yawning the hunger pains diminish.
Whirlpools on whirlpools collect and whisper
In the wish that water beams on purity.
Massive sides of squares are lodged in this home,
I have the bitter sulphur fumes
In this bitter age,
Of work and no play, the saying of the adages.
A procession seems futile with age,
I claw at the floor to fall on my knees,
Before his shoes my mercy is found,
Just now this wrath I have suffered
Keeps me thin and weary,
But then I cancel the cancer within.
The cancerous time is over. My fight
In the heavens speaks to me
With lasting kindness.
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poem by Naveed Akram
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Going is not Staying
Going is pleasing, but staying is the finest,
Because success is a wand of delight, the achiest.
Homes must destroy and damage other houses and mansions,
To be absurd, to be asinine, and to be cruel demonstrations.
Denizens of the abysm are far away from killing, and willing
To crop up in mansions that keep blood, of those who are honouring.
The horror is married as a disgust also agony, they also want reading
After the books wonder from the head or grave, this is much abducting.
Go to an area of strict kindness although we do hate your kind,
You seem like evolving your bedroom and chairs, your very mind.
Go away, I say to it, and what do people carry out when warned?
Thursday is today, adding a cat to Friday, the lion forewarned.
Going and staying is when supernatural actions work,
It is gorgeous why dangers pass, when do you go berserk?
poem by Naveed Akram
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Make the Money
Sitting at home can bring a new pleasure,
Sizes of the rooms can bring enjoyment.
Sit by and watch television, listen to radio,
Do not involve with the outside world.
The world is just bigger than your house,
It is explored by the big men, who are serving themselves.
They are bigger and better than the rest,
To name a few could mean calamity.
Smaller than the mightiness of God is the ordinary man,
As if the big men are worth too much splendour,
As if the nature of the smaller man in his home is only father,
Like the money has churned from money, not from God.
Does it grow on trees in the back garden?
Do you see the leaves wilting and dying?
Then if they do, you are like them too.
You will have to be bigger and better, so that you are too big.
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poem by Naveed Akram
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The Earth Of Mankind
And I breathed my loudest to die tonight,
The relics of the past were forgotten due to health.
By the way of the resonance, my happiness left
To complete an ordeal of the likeliest kind,
Feelings and inner feelings were immense
Like the professors, of the days we studied together.
Seeing a craft was like sighting godly inferences,
Manifold reasons were proclaimed
In this forward motion,
In these completely new formations
That utilized the strength and haste
Of a majestic being in trouble.
My breathing was inside the road we told,
Yet a bliss concerned the dealings of men,
The very same righteous men who walked
The Earth.
Sending the spices of reality and questions
Was then to interrogate, and sending was a
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poem by Naveed Akram
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I See A Man
I see a man innocent and far-fetched,
Offering me the deaths of thousands;
I apologise for the inconvenience of my laugh,
Seeing that this great saint is beautiful.
My sights are so glorious for more,
The abnormal request turns into more folly
As he raises his hand to a wall to erase society’s
Beauty, much too bold a great beauty.
May this man be trusted and tolerated
After he swings a fist in the direction of the Sun
And instead hits the boy utterly in the head,
Wearing shoulders and dress of a great day.
My community thinks twice of this old man,
I see him during my life, and I watch the spectacles,
Wondering why? O God! ! Why does he then die?
Let Humanity be successful due to him.
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poem by Naveed Akram
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