Blind Glimpses Poem by Asma Khan

I touched the dying sun on his forehead
before he parted
his eyes were still and cold
with a blazing fire instead

He was broken down and pale
there was nothing left to weigh and scale
how he wondered about
his defeated tale

I had no reason to put forth
the only sense I could make
to tell him how
stars go from south to north

I watched him standing on the verge
how clearly his heart was shown
diving in and out in the urge

Perhaps, I may regret his departure
this will be clear in his absence
the time may not come back
like spears of the blind archer