a poem by Naveed Khalid, Pakistan

Not less so fairly robbed of me her auburn looks
that I carry with a heavy heart thy yoke too dear,
of plucked parsley upon the sand dunes
her stumbled feet to my shipwrecked dreams!
at midnight lease this world of first falling winter snow;
against e'ery flower upon a barren heath,
so sweetly wed to my thought her night-long love;
awakes but a wonder in thine holy eyen, sweet maid:
away from high heavens in the late evening,
hung aloft ghastly night I still behold,
darkly drowned enigma of yore dream in solemn or strain this dull rhyme,
beside the oak, while I stood at the do'r of rosemary garden;
some shadow fell from myrtle in my bed of crimson joy,
old folks our bedtime stories tell under the Archangel's brow,
half-way between the carpet upon thy iron car at Matilda's farm,
still musing o'er the dale of what the stars in secret influence comment,
pricked with a furr coat in the cellar-barn that wayfarer's clime;
of crowqui'l such darling buds of may in haystack and straw,
arise, arise from off thy ancient lyre in morning's pure serene.

(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2016.
All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: July 20, 2016, Wednesday, 8: 46 PM

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