Hot Pan Poem by Naveed Akram

The pan is hotter than heat,
Filling the eyes with musical hurt;
Pain is of a difference in this day,
In this day is a subtraction.
One felt before a sense of calm,
So go and find me in this stupor,
Scorched by the pan of troubles,
Slipping from the palm,
Like I begged for mercy in this year.

Far off lands are a fine disgrace,
Pans are hotter in the land far away,
But then the dish of life is cooked
As it turns its face to one man at last.
This pain has ailments, full of us,
The poor are worse off with their suffering
Flinching in the sun, shaking their heads.