To Be Cured
You accuse me of corners too tight,
Living a lie that was demanded of me,
But when do shoulders visit and dismay
The liars who perpetrate the crimes to be.
You sway and dash like a river into its sea,
With me you swing and search to see if needs are met.
The real religion is a faith of certain epic nature
That I trust and hope to suffer for all the days in my life.
To accuse me of slander and backbiting
Is next to enslaving my body to the rigours.
It is a regime that ordered me to be good,
To be effort and comfort, and to be all that cured.
poem by Naveed Akram
Added by Poetry Lover
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