Fit Job
Fit is the Earth on which we live,
Antipathy has reasons for lying on the soil.
We endanger each other for all times,
Hitting the residue of the crust, the surface of the planet.
Anger will reach it, the part of the world that lived with us;
Afterwards, we forsake a fiendish luck that devastates.
The destruction I pursue is often in time with leadership,
But the greatness of a patriotic state-of-being is large, but not huge.
A crafty people are rejected and materialised is the hole
I call Father Nature, where Mother Nature has a pencil.
This is disastrous my jobs are ancient
But never is the desire of my life entangled?
poem by Naveed Akram
Added by Poetry Lover
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