A blast of behaviour ripped the muscles,
My machines are best with angels;
It is fire, where the fire burns after,
Only in hours do reasons lift glamour.
My laughter dealt with fear and hatred,
Hidden were the giggles and smiles aborted.
Fire smelt like smoke as distinct lines
Formed in front of the mirror as signs.
What explosion is this, in the sight of my eyes?
Hatred is best in taste over heat to agonize.
My worry is the same as mouthing the deep meaning
Accompanying laughter, helping smiling and abandoning.
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Comments about this poem (A Blast by Naveed Akram )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
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