Drawing-Room

I wanted to open the drawing-room door,
Looking so ordinary and collected;
Knowing my business, I ran in and collided
Running into clouds forming above the City.
I went on and on, but alas I knew the battering
Of the ball, the living in each other.
Spectacular images ran into my watery head,
Why fly as an outcast? Why have flight?
One could not laugh so much as heaven,
Exquisite moments were tampered.
Sitting down by me, the images of clouds
Were produced fortnightly.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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