Writing The Deeds Poem by Naveed Akram

He cut his ten fingers with youth
Like the odd ends of a cigarette;
One held together the playwrights,
Their writing was staged forever.
My biting of the hands was very handsome,
I payed for my acting and my weapon.
But the theatre pays everyone
For the deeds that embroider our deeds.
This act is an act like no other,
Dramatic decisions tie us with yokes
So split by those who eat eggs.
The dialogue has been swift,
And let them shine towards the end
Like curtained Russia and bothering kings.