Graveyards Poem by Naveed Akram

One realises the woods are graves of the dead,
Internally, he bleeds for the wounds inflicted
By wounds by wounds, from the hounds of life.
This reality beneath which resides the globe,
Creates and mentions the wombs of the important
Insolent women, like the mothers of evil writers.
My minutes are seconds, and my days are years,
Time has been upset with tears in its eyes,
Blinking, blinking, and upsetting the rest of the company.

Stars obviously spin around to stagnate
The trails of the heavens, to spin is too wild.
One masters the stars for the soothing gloomy effect,
A loquacious teacher is the astronomer of the city.
Skills plough their way forward,
Martyrs are slain from the front of the heart.

To be wombs of mothers that die rather sensibly,
Stars are refreshed by dining clubs,
Where food is when it is served.
The birth of a generation masters the prior
Helpers of mankind,
Goings are tougher than the rest of humanity.