My Loaf Poem by Naveed Akram
My Loaf
Then we strive for a living too perfect,
How angered God constructs the lesions
Of your brain, innards are intact for the life.
Loaves of bread ingested will give output,
My outing resides in my head, with a foul;
The picnic is of course a picked loaf
From the parlour of discontent.
The religion surrenders with a people
Always governed by the authorities of God.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/1/2024 7:14:57 AM # 1.0.0.1119
