Ride of Pain

The stairs of a pain are long when awoken by strangers,
To outshout is again a pain of suffering, of abhorrence;
Please wake and jog the intramuscular strength
To abhor our pages, be this all not boorish.
Narrating this is not good, a dwindling soul shall worry
Because the pain is bigger than any spurting fountain,
All microscopic complaints must be discarded.
Do drape the past with our solid fret,
Do barricade the simple history of the soul,
Your slight hazard is questioning,
To outshout your complaint is microscopic,
So the weakness has demanded a ride on a horse
Astraddle.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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