My Hope Is Dashed

My album of thoughts is an army of pleasure,
My pleasure contains the thinnest thinkers;
O where are they who call themselves philosophers?
Babies are them, children consider them to be so,
But when force has dashed the hope and they try
To think along and initially, these dreams come.
On my backpack of nightmares a theory rests on the verge,
The apex of this centupled act of connivance
Surprises us horrifically.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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