No, needest not I such flawed assumptions
of the mind,
much toiled by day's labour in worn-out time,
seems but a far-off cry beyond the sunrise,
e'ery groaning heart that feeds upon
nurslings of immortality,
her night-long love of thy most high deserts,
no dark can e'er illumine at sunset of the evening sky:
ah, by counting more in prayers upon the sand dunes
our little john, not least be worthy of thy perusal;
that crow's quill beside the bed of oak,
soon will settle on thy brow in winter cold
against the harvest moon;
a broccoli, a few dry leaves of book in autumn
along the pavement of cow parsley,
of my shipwrecked dreams in rosemary garden,
oft steals looks from morning's pure serene,
heaven-ward bent with pen-pricked angels,
our Lord in manger of mandrake roots.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Saturday, November 21,2015 4: 10: 04 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem