Bruises
Bruises smack me silly,
Naveed cries some time for pity,
Then the reality mixes with fiction
And he staggers at the task ahead,
To be reported by the people-in-charge.
My heart stings from dresses and others,
Going into the territory of love is golden.
My heat now sings swearing towards the goal,
Swerving in ways called rivers and mud.
A swamp has allied with marsh,
And a fatal prize is fortunate;
My prizes are luckier then most,
For the marsh is honoured and
Then blessed, liking us instead.
These grazes are not any longer bruises,
And stinging issues command me to state
The facts. I do not know the sense and reason
Of this fact. I do not know.
poem by Naveed Akram
Added by Poetry Lover
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