Black Wounds Poem by Naveed Akram

Black and attracted to the vacuum,
A space is an endeavour of the word,
It is language, it is spoken by tongues,
For it spreads with sense and surprise,
For our benefit and calmness,
To take our families into happiness.

But my enemy is my foe of fierce wolves,
Languishing from lungs of leaking blood,
A pace is splitting the rhythm of the chase,
Chaste women are aligned on the shelves
Of books about holy dangers, filling the heart,
Filling the eyes with tense tears.

But my enemy is fearful of the fist,
His language is light, his religion is right,
Mighty dangers await him on the other size,
His language of words and deeds is spilt
Onto the brainy men who lead like leather,
Finding my bleeding wounds so wastefully.