It Hurt Him

It hurt him when their hurt was big,
The play of wining the food was to dig,
As if dug were the drunkards,
Face it the dragging creatures
Came along with seasons
That mustard was too strong for the reasons.
It rehearsed the sinful looting of his life,
The stand of ill-treatment was like a knife.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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