Doomed City

Of this doomed city is my shop of heavy faces,
What matters is ice and snow and cold;
For the following day created a pale service,
As the claims were, over the city streets.

I called it Neverness, the importance of the flesh,
And I nodded for I slipped below the surface;
The claims weren’t obsolete but they were sad,
Like the guts of the place, the guts of the taste.

That thought was somehow important,
To immerse yourself in the dolls of thirst;
Grasping at gifts and golf and fog,
In order to speak to the onlookers.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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