a poem by Naveed Khalid, Pakistan

What use thy occurence to a close afraid,
no eyes can see e'ery flower
upon a barren heath
the wall on high in sweet-scented silence,
be made to wither from off thy old-formed memory;
a spine of a book leaf against the harvest moon!
a garland for yore head under the Archangel's brow,
of laurel wreath thy myrtle crow:
that our queen shall wear at Erin's gate;
above the mantle piece, the stars in secret influence comment,
full glorious sun of our common affairs,
oft steals looks from my bed of crimson joy,
that day I scarcely grew to light of my shipwrecked dreams,
a wrinkled lip in my spilt words o'er the dale;
where I my feet hath tread the mundane shell,
beside a desert titan a broken mirror
that shows not half thy part in the backyard
of my garden
some such snowflakes in winter cold.

(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Monday, December 14,2015 3: 30: 10 PM

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