Dirge

a poem by Naveed Khalid, Pakistan

Must I pay homage to the setting sun in deep azure
that half-baked masonry's night,
of our common affairs by the windowsill
has way too far a golden clime on top of the trees,
amidst a thousand farewells my shipwrecked dreams!
needest not at midnight lease this world at my door
of rosemary garden:
humanity's grace shall be no more thy love
of first falling winter snow in the late evening:
e'ery flower upon a barren heath through hurtlings of past woe,
of darkened earth's infernal grave
the wall on high thy most high deserts,
bereaved of light my glorious days away from high heavens,
you know not, nor ye need to know of what the stars
in secret influence comment, by what cruel hand or eye,
deaf and dumb to the ear one more time the heart
that fed in nurslings of immortality,
cowslip her parted hair upon the sand dunes,
the Eagle on wings, on wings still musing o'er the dale.;
beside the oak, while you may dine the table,
a broccoli, beneath the bed of crimson joy,
from another shore to arise, to suffer by thee alone
of e'ery departed look under the Archangel's brow
my sweet-scented letters fell from myrtle
against that day of Christmas eve I behold, I behold.


(C) Naveed khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2016.
All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Sunday, July 10, 2016 8:33:13 PM
Sunday, July 10, 2016 8:34:49 PM

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