Stench

A stench has stung my nose for afterlife,
Losing us, steep and deep the cavern.
My smelling and losing is against me,
No action surrenders to the verbal one.
Cascading onto the floor we spray into vision,
We are the bubbles of life, and living is near,
Foams of laughter are from soaps, and it is near.
The badge of beverages lacks all thought,
My stains are resting on their sides,
My levers stray and pant from the new meaning.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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