No man I know of whom you think
they speak so fervently,
away from this fedora of yore dream;
hath rent at midnight lease
e'ery flower upon a barren heath,
my love of thy most high deserts
in the late evening,
all wrapped in shroud of a star;
heaven-ward bent beyond the sunrise
this world of my shipwrecked dreams;
where no dark by dark bewails the night
of unattended looks under the Archangel's brow,
full ripe gourd of some hazel nuts in my account,
oft steals e'ery fair from summer's prime,
that in white robes of heaven,
the Eagle on wings, on wings to a close afraid.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Tuesday, November 24,2015 11: 37: 36 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem