To Record What Is Kept Poem by Naveed Akram

I had said something to record the legions of hate,
Their soldiers came in marching like doves on legs.
I saw a match between their species on legs and arms,
But more divisions crept in like the older variations.

I saw a visionary in his chair as chances were bold,
And as my building was stern and considerate,
They worked a sin after a soul of hate,
Inside them this was written and this was kept.

I had someone in the pumping pipes,
Internal anger released itself,
Opening the gate and door eternally,
My pride was fixed with the stars of the age.