a poem by Naveed Khalid, Pakistan

I'll not beweep my state of being an outcast wretch, O Poverty!
Nor my decaying form has but past woe's deceased frame;
Lost in the twilight 'gainst the mirror of thine eye, my love,
Of transient nature's eclipsed doom to bloody tyrant time;
The red moon's fiery flame burns in haystack of woods,
Of fathom-five thy crackled bones, vanished in Hades of a star!
Yet to debarr at heaven's gate, my bride, full rich content
Of my pride looks to the world, of infinitesimal blessings;
And in such that I honour most by what no prince's favourite,
Has enough wits to prove in graceful ease a hundred mouthed grave,
Still grows e'eryday to another ken, darkly lit in thy abode,
This house of clay in dumb despair, a darksome dungeon.

(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2014.
All Rights Reserved.

Date Created; Thursday, June 05,2014 6: 01: 50 PM

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