The Food

The food is ready on the table,
I have drink as well, and pleasure.
My husband achieved the mighty house,
And why does the life be magnificent
When death takes shape over the home?
Our sprightliness is upset by the recent event,
A deadly plant from the devil.
It grew from a bulb, an exotic egg of wonder,
The animals will be fouled.
I cannot smell it on the tongue,
But the nose can never do this.
My husband is my life, and plants are for dying,
But he upsets my experience with life
By quarrelling with myself
So that life of a plant has marred into death.
The food is ready on the table,
I do not drink from him anymore.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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