The Baton Poem by Naveed Akram

I have to begin to laugh,
So conveying the thought of a tree;
It bows to the floor of the earth
That resides on this world.
I have to worry little, worry small,
When laces are worn, shoulders
Are hunched in the arts of your own.
This fantastic fanatic has stories,
One overflowing, the other in relish.

Pass the baton of disbelief,
Catastrophes happen daily, as they
Disappear within the century.
I fell into centuries to bid farewell,
My squids in the jungle of dreams
Have to hurt, and they must derive
Their equations of trust.

I begin to already hear men speak
In wondrous song, delighted skin.
The sense of the upper-cut
Rhymes too thin, the rhyming sin
Manages to knockdown the disbelief.

Pass the baton of this believer
Swearing on public enemies,
The whole foe distinguishes itself.
I have to gain a victory of tin and copper
To line my jar always on the shelf
With books as friends.