Had I but in my hands the clock that tells time?
I'll count you numbers in my prayer;
More the better, much too stressed-out note
Of e'ery skipped beat in my account,
Be but in death-like trance, my love,
Half-sick, half-poisoned, half-deaf to the ear,
Unheard of what from a fumbled mouth hath spilled
The green-eyed beans ere thine unweird eye.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2014.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created on: Tuesday, September 02,2014 12: 08: 07 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem