My Questioner

My hill is mounted by the breeze and myself,
Thirst is my objection, hunger is my complaint;
Food has argued with me beautifully,
Drink has kept me in sorrow and grief and music.
The love of life enters the grass on the summit,
Where I stand and face my lord,
Whom I must answer to right now, right here.
This fantasy finds me in a relaxed position,
The hills give noise and I am the wanderer
Who hears the voice of a spiritual temper,
The voice so loved by the generations
And the one they call to when in a state of divinity.
I hear this spring of water on the hilltop,
And I feel the gushing freshness of my questioner.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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