The Days Spoke
Gone are the days we spoke to each other,
Smiling is an art to deliver to the mother.
How do rests and exertions complain
In the face of danger, the main?
I love these faces, dishevelled and bleeding,
Like open doors and windows of a breeding.
Bled by the sword of mighty health
The disasters will mind and see wealth,
As soon as possible, with a deed
Too grand and cheerful of seed.
May we distance ourselves from the world
Outside and inside as faces swirled.
poem by Naveed Akram
Added by Poetry Lover
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