It was on the first storey and floor on my offered road, <br />That glass shook to written pieces, displaying zealots <br />That interfered with drunkards of the painful memory. <br />Marvellous stations on the radio defeated my dinner, <br />Their roads were the same emperors of the single men. <br />These would take the windows of chariots far, <br />Carrying the streets of a day inside cars and vehicles. <br /> <br />Off the book, a first floor stained the blood of the mind, <br />Telling my chiefs this tragedy, sitting on the roof, <br />With houses called mansions on the radio, <br />Keeping and throwing, throwing and keeping, <br />That glass shook to written pieces, seeping into bodies, <br />Then the records were still playing, <br />The music still delivered its pleasure.<br /><br />Naveed Akram<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pleasant-radio/
