Naveed Akram (15 December 1973 / London, England)
From Such A Kite
From time to time, such a kite
Flew and spun, knocking cowards
In mid-flight, loose and swift.
Grass and feathers swung on the edge,
Filling the holes of holy growth.
I put in my foe a spirit of turtles
That dashed and rode the roads
Only to be struck by the winds of change
Encircling the land of the fainted.
From this time we wounded the fair
And fierce, with arrows of lying
Inferred from the deities,
A worthwhile sport.
The kite walked the air with pride
And distance, then it swooned on
The heads of the city,
Fixing its glare on the sun
And this same star was a spade
Fitting the sands of the world.
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