Of what I know not but to thee suffice
that half-baked masonry's night,
makes wither e'ery flower upon a barren heath;
for of such false schemes in flaunt flemingo,
no dark can e'er illumine my shipwrecked dreams
ere in thy graceful ease this world I confide,
that grows old, giddy, cold and numb
of novice feeling that shows not half thy part:
a dilemma of unsolved mystery to my reckoning days
be made to play a hunch for the parade!
awhile but to think of how they led me
through the door in rosemary garden
of hundred years from hence, heaven-ward bent
of woeful song beside the bed of oak
e'ery falling star in winter cold
along the pavement of cow-parsley,
some such snowflakes of eclipsed doom
to bloody tyrant time, our little john,
that day of unaltered eye upon the sand dunes.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Sunday, November 15,2015 4: 21: 02 PM
Sunday, November 15,2015 4: 25: 41 PM
Sunday, November 15,2015 4: 27: 51 PM
Sunday, November 15,2015 4: 35: 43 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem