O ye say not that I hath lived in vain
against bloody tyrant time,
e'ery mortal look to that forfeited dark,
I still hold dear with what I least contend
to account for love of e'ery fig leaf in autumn wind
at sunset of the evening sky,
this world of thy most high deserts;
more bright to illumine ere thine unweird eyen:
that in brief hours of the night,
of wanton looks to precious minutes waste;
oft goes soaring high above the dale with pen-pricked angels,
that in secret influence comment to my eyes so blind,
of golden tress his hair upon the strand of still waters,
a foul fawning bay at my door of unnerved blood in vein,
of ages that are dead in dismal shades of grey,
ah, too, but outlives this powerful rhyme
ere moves afoot to eternal bliss in waking hour;
while in thy presence abides by thee alone
to my e'erliving memory thy gilded monument astounds.
(C) Naveed Khalid
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All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Tuesday, January 20,2015 2: 23: 36 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem