A Treasure Trove Poem by Naveed Khalid

All thy work is done,
and thou hast nothing to do,
but sit brooding, taking bath in the sun,
for another summer's victim,
play with men of brittle clay breaking,
changing into something else,
as if they knew not thou'd know,
or more than myself my desire,
less to thy love hath proved;
false, corrupted otherwise,
yet thou never so desir'd;
nor thy wish upon a star
hath e'er fulfill'd
thy promise of heaven;
for next to it lies awaiting
this inferno of bread and butter,
sugar-coated candies,
and a gift box of chocolates,
coconut cherries that melt
her violet blues in the grey evening.


(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2012.
All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Monday, January 30,2012 6: 20: 12 PM