A Thief

I am a man, not a woman. My Roman status exceeds me. I
am a thief who loves you, forever in love with your objects.
Am I not a liar? Commandments are ‘superior’ to me. Love
is not my answer for everything like that. Live in conduct, but
live in hope. My theft is the darkest form of conduct. Yet I am
not a child, and when I walk I talk as a child. My words are
lost. I cannot speak; for if I am caught, I shall weep.

And he wept, with bursting eyes. For he was caught like
a madman had been captured. Even he thought he would
get away, but it was too late.
The Roman soldiers crucified him on the cross. No one
could mention his name again; He was called Augustus,
the man who died on the cross.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!