Be Proud

Be pride and poison for it,
Poor is the friar who took.
Pleasure is soon, sooner than ever,
When bones are picked by the vultures
Over our heads that speak of those ones that fly nearby.
Be proud and in the death of others be proud
Against a fountain of rifles and ammunition,
These are the guns we lift to our eyes and let vultures fly to die.
The monks are not in the vicinity, like hairy monks.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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