Passes

One of the passes in my spy world
Combines with the many odors of the place;
A short girl stands from the buildings
That are seen as conspicuous as the men
Of great talent and of great reason.

Every time an act is embroidered with spoken
Blessing, new meaning has been accosted
And retrained, to refuse to know.

One of the outlandish spies in my country
Of corroded beliefs has accomplished a minor
Event. I do not know of the reality
That they know.

This eating happened after a lie had been
Spoken, the very business of a grinder,
A wrestler and a spirit.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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