A Charioteer on Wings

a poem by Naveed Khalid, Pakistan

Of chiseled bones thy iron frame
is carved of stones,
needs not in mournful numbers
e'ery skipped beat of my pulse
against bloody tyrant time the west wind
in autumn of thy book, some dry leaves
of titanic visions afar at midnight lease,
hides from eternals a fair view of the world
around my head this crimson bed of blue-bells
at my door, shows not half thy part, of first frost
her falling winter snow at clover-beach,
beside the oak, the majestic sun in whose footprints
upon the sand dunes, a staircase window
of the wall on high by the sweat of thy brow,
awakes me to thy call at break of day,
oft steal looks from off thy ancient lyre
in solemn or strain this dull rhyme,
has a hold me height in heaven's high bower;
her night-long love, pricked with small minions
of soring thumb impressions under the bolted sky,
stlll to my decaying form abides her interlocked assumptions
of the mind, opes a garden unto erin's gate in silent hours
of soliloquy, hung aloft the ghastly night I still behold,
of dreary cold repose in whose tress of golden hair,
the silver angels in age-old gray from another shore arise,
thy beauty's bride of full rich content some vulgar paper
to rehearse among waded lots of wonton mire, clawed jaws
of cloven-hoof, blows the trumpet horn of tempest beats,
that plays a hunch for the parade, of laurel wreath
thy myrtle crown under the Archangel's brow.

(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2017.
All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Friday, May 12,2017.9: 14 PM

* Who am I? I am for nothing!

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