The sun at measured distance from afar,
oft steals looks from my bed but of late;
and where a sailing boat is deck'd ashore
under the haven of a bolt'd sky;
his compass'd ark through many a sleepless night
hath raised the world from earth's infernal grave,
that by Eve's crescent in the harvesting field,
wherein I stand still, my oars half-sunk in the ocean
of timeless tide, a thought of your vibe
at River Afqa by e'er flowing cascade,
alone hath moved thy bones to Adonis.
(C) Naveed Khalid
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All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Saturday, December 07,2013 1: 50: 40 PM