Naveed Akram (15 December 1973 / London, England)
The man who hates the world shall carry it,
Love minds himself, like light and dark a bit;
My mother causes him to live and die,
From life he goes, from death he will ally.
This day is bent, these minds create a bend
In this pathway, acidic rights attend;
My friend is bored of his own pen instead,
He writes too little so that is ahead.
I see a bed to sit on further than
My mind - the work of sand that is a ban-
Since time is small, and we are bravery:
What danger comes? Where is the slavery?
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