Travels
The road up to the Acropolis
Winds around the hills
And the souvenirs carried their treat
Like a famous puzzle in the heart.
In the future Turks will make a new way
To the recent joy and pills are not made
To make him go up that way
To the Acropolis.
Inside my heart is the proud mistake
I managed to speak of the world of Tissues,
Of bodies that concert blameworthy sighs
Of ill-health, of distress and any hotel of luxury.
I am now glorious, like a cushion in a bedroom
With a Turk who loved my harbour:
Inside is the really fun part, the organ
Called the Heart.
poem by Naveed Akram
Added by Poetry Lover
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