Healing the Sick

The brightness of the sun is like that of the moon,
Your innocence married with your soul:
You spiritually healed the sick, helped a poor man,
Collected taxes, spent danger, and kept safety.
You worked hard, like a rich man of steel,
Bending the bars of authority like a man of entry.
The sun is a shining weapon of gold,
Marrying me to life outside,
My gain of splendour, like the innocent ones.
The stars reuse their light every night,
And when the nearest star arrives
Our innocence has concerned society
To the very end of life on this planet.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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