Mountain Lane

This lactic lane advertises the acts
Of my numbered men in talent;
Sales are made to the dozens of orders,
Frowning is the name of the story.

I have doubts on reality that exist,
To overwhelm the likes of you,
This speeding on the highway proclaims
A play to be written on death.

It is love and its agreement with loving,
That is the story of the most iron,
Irony detonates the bomb of hate,
Ironic questions are being asked.

Dying feelings can be a weight,
Tapping the head of the way we call,
At the top is the mountain of truth,
Wading upwards completes sin.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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