Fuel He Heralds
To be frustrated over fuel, one hates and then loves,
High-flown terms enter the imagination, one heralds.
So then quiet sets in to achieve new tasks of light,
Light has been a confounded substance or just
A strange matter of particles, already the winning.
Fuel is an event of the soul, the very indignant matter
That is housed in the heart, a mansion of love and blood.
To be this fuel called blood, please us with money and then
The foolishness of an obese man is gone, always abhorred.
poem by Naveed Akram
Added by Poetry Lover
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