Fuel He Heralds Poem by Naveed Akram

To be frustrated over fuel, one hates and then loves,
High-flown terms enter the imagination, one heralds.
So then quiet sets in to achieve new tasks of light,
Light has been a confounded substance or just
A strange matter of particles, already the winning.
Fuel is an event of the soul, the very indignant matter
That is housed in the heart, a mansion of love and blood.
To be this fuel called blood, please us with money and then
The foolishness of an obese man is gone, always abhorred.