Avogadro Of Chingerbot Poem by Naveed Khalid

Heaven hath her golden bow in the trees,
of clay and wattle-made thistles by the stream,
some dry autumn leaves in worn-out time,
that in my spilt words to my mind still,
a broccoli, beneath the sheer taut surface;
of eclipsed doom to bloody tyrant time,
this world of my shipwrecked dreams,
a hundred shadows by thy grove that bewailing night asleep,
away from that bright-lit mirror of thy most high deserts,
I could see our little john upon the sand dunes,
where I my feet hath tread the mundane shell
against e'ery departed look to count I my woe-begone days,
of cowslip her parted hair in my bed of crimson joy,
no eyes can see a becharming sunset in the late evening,
of cherubim Wing with pen-pricked angels,
that crow's hat on knees in ruffled feathers.
of snow-capped myrtle under the Archangel's brow,
rest content be oblivion of rosemary garden,
I my secret hath kept to that day of unaltered eye.


(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Thursday, December 24,2015 4: 25: 13 PM