At Last I Overpower Poem by Naveed Akram

At last I overpower you when I am glad,
My pleasure is my pleading, as my worship.
The child swung tears from eyes of gentility,
Turning with vicious bruises, wicked blushes,
With a forming tongue of icicles and drugs.
My pleasure was my own riches, my feeding,
As he was a pleasing boy of righteous wellness.

On the way to school my beloved boy died
After the crossing, before the losing, exactly living.
I get weary of human rights, embellished traits,
As those were traitors' eyes and vicious faces,
Grim accusations, of grit and bone, solidity and farce.
My child swung tears and fists, jolly and kind,
Fixing the stare like a piercing star or upheld planet.

And so life moves with lies and liars like the dust over ground,
Goose has it, dog has it not, but the cats are intelligent.
On my back I struggled as a hunchback and leper,
On this road we stagger and stiffen, jolly and fun-loving,
Righteous and cruel, inwardly rude, with eyes of gold, rich
Eyes are in my head; for the goal is set to finish the child's eyes,
Like the scoring of ghosts that boost your laughing and tears.