My People Die

My people die when they are asleep,
Kicking and punching their way to the heavens.
The wonder of peace suggests diplomas of good,
The good say goodbye to the morning.
My personality is finer than the workers of good,
It causes a stop and finds a treasure of gold.
The nature of some discovery sings to the tune,
And this melodious sound finds truth, in truth.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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