My Bonfire

After this I gather a wooden stick collection,
Burning the sticks of wooden nature.
A fire has rudely devoured the flesh of my world,
The later periods have contrived a short pause.
Please do not desist this activity, when you gather wood,
For my father has been the future, living like warmth
And this fire is within the layers to bind it,
The soul is mighty with grief, the soul has cancer
Of the brain, as for this world.
The fire has risen into the sky, like it is a bonfire
For all to see and imagine, for my father loved the sky
At night when the wooden sticks were burnt
To remind him of the variety of afterlife.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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