My Knife

My knife is trusted and wanted
By drunkards and those aborted.
My swords are never present at late,
Please do swerve on a path to accelerate.

My life is again to abdicate, to destroy,
And I mean he loses the battle to annoy
Himself. He is himself and he burdens
The life of all who are buoyant with their abdomens.

My living is for God, when I am afloat in the region,
In the saved land I call water of waters, the abjection.
This I object: why does the sea be water and the real knife,
When living on land is far more superior, more than a wife.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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