A Global Village Poem by Naveed Khalid

Methinks not this world of beating pulse,
so sickening to the bones
of unnerved blood in vein,
that in less measured looks from afar
such ill-fetched schemes but stirr the mind,
of wrinkled lip in my spilt words;
beside the oak, half-way between
the carpet upon her night-long love
against the setting sun, my shipwrecked dreams!
outspread in leaves of autumn,
first frost of falling winter snow
at Christmas eve, still wed to my thought
of ages that are dead upon the sand dunes,
raised from dust-cover'd page of thy book,
while musing o'er the dale
in silent hours of soliloquy,
no heart can afford small minions that arise
under the hedgerow of a cottage-tree,
pricked with a furr coat in the cellar-barn,
thy fair lamb in November
holds a palm in yore hand of haystack and straw
on knees in ruffled feathers,
down the lane in amber woods
that half-baked masonry's bride
in the backyard of rosemary garden,
I could see him sitting on the bench,
marked with voluptuous acmes,
pebbles and stones in the ocean sink,
emptied to the drains her persistent cries
of veneral amores runs in deep sorrows,
that weighs the air above the mundane,
of way too far a golden clime
on top of the tree,
of laurel wreath thy myrtle crown.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Thursday, November 17,2016.6: 47,51 PM updated: 8: 30