Born

A hundred years is like deep deep anger,
A thousand may deepen into ravines,
And still time is about, is advanced and lovely,
More than its source, mostly a manly invention
Has it still, but silence has been a visitor.
More sound has crafted the dwindling cities,
Mostly, the Earth is guessed by the tides
And we were rounder than many circles
But the world was superior and we were drunk by it.
One century has passed since I was born,
Those circles no longer deny the perfection that is mine.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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