Must I through the staircase window
of the wall on high,
hide from eternals this world forlorn;
of untread places far-off beyond the sunrise,
away from out of sight to my mind still
some such dry leaves of book in autumn
on lone bark of a tree,
more bright by the sweat of thy brow:
her enchanting slogans of disparity of eyes so blind,
that e'ery groaning heart in nurslings of immortality,
too, but feeds upon my woe-begone love,
of darkened days by the sea-ashore
against that forfeited dark in Hades of a star,
above a fire-hurst thy most high deserts,
while down that road in false pretense to vague impressions,
I still behold that crow's quill of my shipwrecked dreams.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Monday, May 25,2015 5: 02: 02 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem