Naveed Akram (15 December 1973 / London, England)
His stomach was moved from the pan of trouble,
He had no sense of workmanship and joy,
So that protests detested the horizon,
And work had been a sheathed affair of brilliance.
He was very hungry due to the scattered pieces
Of food that clung to the arteries, especially
With archery, and the swollen flesh.
He shuffled with crystal and states of jewels,
Freshly cut with a chiselled nature,
Offering a long, white neck the approval.
Curious eyebrows met in the middle ways.
Comments about this poem (His Stomach by Naveed Akram )
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