Methinks not so blind of what in deep azure,
Oft I write to the setting sun by the western isle;
That in hurtlings of past woe to the effulgent sky,
The fabric of subtle thought that I deny thee most,
Of age-old love that to my decaying form abides,
More bright to illumine this world ere thine unweird eye:
Than that forfeited dark under the canopy of a hut,
Can e'er hope to arise through e'eryday happenings;
Of whom, they say, like a blind, crooked, old fool,
Keeps staring through the staircase window of the wall;
Alas, but leaves my mind to unhindered scope of light,
A bunch of stars to collect by the sea-ashore,
That in my smooth sailing rhyme, slowly drifting dream amiss,
Of golden tress his hair upon the strand of still waters.
(C) Naveed Khalid
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Date Created: Sunday, October 05,2014 10: 14: 49 PM