More Food

Toy us, toy food with instinct saving you,
Then definitely work on that which makes,
Surrender yours, so action failed - it aches,
It aches and aches, forever it imbue.
So face this sound like fodder and horseshoe,
I see a bath may profit my backaches,
Then present food described us as brakes,
Cakes bring the joy to danger - interview!
I see the toys, I think I am a tool,
My tools as one that lusts for pain are grand,
The work I feed shall win, shall fit, preserve.
Inquire into food and carrots cool,
This energetic choir sings so bland,
My work is concentrating on my nerve.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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