The Story To Remember Poem by Naveed Akram

I can't remember the story,
But simply wish for certain signs
So I tell the trifle and the riddle in time.
And I recall the hands of the clock
Waving at the spectacles of the sad sight.

Of dark water, there is a voice still hearkening
Little by little, a flame of distaste, a disdainful
Rumour in haste, for the selfish and quiet.

Then a silver tear falls towards the feet of the beloved,
The embroidery of the earth is deflated with thoughts
Of your excellence.

I can't recall the righteous activity, to blame
The devil is not divine, by the way.
I am a shaven man today, for beards come from the
Heart that swings towards the rivers of life.
I laid my hand on your face to install peace,
Lesser men shrivel from the handshake.

My palm is dead, my low voice heralds a new
Taking, raising and sending snow on the rivers of mud
And ice, like the whole of the Antartica.
I am a poor man for the old, I am just and ordinary,
Little is my deed of the years.