Naveed Khalid Poems

What needest I in dark hours of the night,
That by day's toil but weary of such looks
To full bright summer at midnight waking;
While I stood at the door of million years from hence,
...

Not least by what you think of his same old facade,
That by writing more I'll but lose sight of thee;
When on Sunday morning I could see you from the gallery,
All wrapped in love of her golden thread of thought,
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Thus, by night to remain confounded by thee alone,
Unmoved by what in beateous form in need of an eye;
That this world brings forth to my sightless view,
Soon as I depart from a hundred shadows by thy grave;
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What it matters if not in words I write,
And nothing more against light
Than what by love to thee suffice;
Which if spread by Muse's wing,
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I'll not in vain words to precious minutes waste
her musings o'er the dale,
of subservient nature's most ardent desire
to fill the page with what I least contend;
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When I bring to mind that bewitching eye
of wild fancy from afar;
and in Hades of a star in deep azure,
all the panorama of this world stands still,
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Thus, this world that bears witness to thee,
That in largess of some thought alone,
Her enchanting slogans of disparity;
Of precarious days in judgment to count I,
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O ye say not that I hath lived in vain
against bloody tyrant time,
e'ery mortal look to that forfeited dark,
I still hold dear with what I least contend
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Then, this world that to a land of fairies abides,
That to my well-contented day be still
Of unnerved blood in vein to old-formed memory,
Much too less of what I thought, contented least
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What great things of the mind,
I bring forth out of sight,
Are not of sense impression made;
But shut out in fathom-five,
...