a poem by Naveed Khalid, Pakistan

The Peacock

With all the grandeur
of the interior of a garden
you stand straight,
ready to spread out
your tail plumes of star-lit eyes:
all too many of your attendants are
of rainbow-colour'd combs and fans,
who always make too bright a show
to the world of your burning passion;
in the eyes of those who dare
to behold you at the throne
of women's headdresses---
You Bird of Paradise
at the Golden Gate
of the Indian Ocean!

You'd serve the poet's quill,
for the verses writ
in arabesque patterns
in the Book of Calligraphy.
You are mark'd for reference
at every plum'd page I read,
I remember you, you who once
played all poets to me,
except for one to be you or I.
Today, all poets, I grant you;
all the leaves of scaled-wings
I present you for the sake
of your holiness.
Even I shadow my eyes at the 'line,
where you in all your beauty lie;
and before I open my eyes
from the Darwin's sickness,
you can walk away into
the gulf of all-poets-eyes,
at the Golden Gate
of the Indian Ocean!

(C) Naveed Khalid 2010

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