My Loss Is Grave Poem by Naveed Akram

My power elite reign in coffins of desire,
So oppressive is pain, so lustrous is platitude.
The ephemeral loss of the day suspends suites,
Twilight breaks open the blanket of space.

My hand admonishes the bony fingers, passages,
Ghastly pall and selfsame bony finger, arduous at last.
Shuffled, it rises, the dutiful one oppresses, depresses,
Strengthening the pointing affairs longing to recall.

My power remembers itself, necromancy alters souls,
I am shirker of duties, dealer of sayings forthcoming;
No longing ardor is accomplice, just power and its use,
A passionate hand resides beside the magician of old.

The burgeoning flames anger themselves with a yellowness,
On their way, on their pronto way, like icicles of hate.
Remember the scrolls, offering longing ardor, so dead men
Rise to encase guilty ones, little ones, souls, solutions of nights.