Then, this world that by looks more bright
than summer's eve can afford,
to behold my love that glorious day
of unaltered eye,
e'ery falling star in winter cold,
they led me through the door in silent hour of the night;
where lies my bed above a funeral pyre,
from out of the debris of ruined ashes,
her lichens of desire in modern electra;
a few cliches from a fumbled mouth,
fell out of hand that crystal goblet,
full fathom-five thy crackled bones
of ages that are dead,
hath spilled the beans all o'er the place,
that crickets sing through e'ery figleaf
of autumn wind in solemn-strained rhyme,
this adobe of a dream at the foot of thy crags.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2014.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: 28 July,2014, Monday at 3: 40 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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