Hurtling Rocks Poem by Naveed Akram

The checked rock hurtled to the floor of caves,
Thick darkly smoke puffed in adders of hate,
Such a gift for prime machines and talents
Of numerous dates; those people stare utterly.

To be a quack we listen and glisten as trusted
Companions of the deserted spring,
Trustworthy subjects so loyal to the king;
We listen and glisten all over, finishing the strings.

This martyr of emblems is an enigmatic father,
Yesterday the folly was murder, then suicide
The very next day, to wrap his anointed cloth
Around the mouth so lovely and careful.