The World’s Remains

The top of the world is only the remains,
This splashes with oceans, and it collects.
This world created me and all that exists,
Inside my bird and animal is a song.
This is singing all of the time,
My destroyer is not a created form
To be effective or arresting,
Just plans are the plans we deplore
When destroyed ones are becoming Law.
The remaining sort of prize is again,
The world connected to this space.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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