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The Man Is In Distress

I copy the man of distress,
He collides with a lady who cares,
And marriage ensues when speaking lands.
I release a socking to the cauldron
To steam him, and his wife, the very instrument
Of his design. He wants to ride her day long,
Thinking his wife is a husband.
My steaming is eventful, as I lived when I lied,
And you became a forethought, a woman is alive.
I copy this distressful lie,
And furthermore, it clings forcing a further lie.
Death is no opening date,
It is closure of utter life.

poem by Naveed Akram
Added by Poetry Lover
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