Fist
A fist is worn by the man who has a skull,
Killing the bones, taking on something mindful;
It rested in the chest, the heart, where it bled
Due to heat and head being hard, in the bed.
I say flowers are outside, wonderful lies,
Youth angered by crouching and it dies.
The fist strongest still flees from the army,
Afterwards, the expedition ended mournfully.
Destroy any son or daughter for anger,
The anger is God’s solution and manufacture;
The fist is a choice of man and woman
Then it decides for the luck is incarceration.
poem by Naveed Akram
Added by Poetry Lover
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