When, my Lord, from dust shall raise,
worn-out by time my old days anew,
of barren rhyme this deserted time,
that to my well-contented day be still
of a hundred shadows by thy grave;
and so by night a star,
wide awake from deep inside
unto e'er changing world;
by travel tired my pilgrimage to thee
will end all heartaches and desires,
sickening to the bones, my love,
foiled in dust-covered page of thy book.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2013.
All Rights Reserved.
*Republished
Date Created: Wednesday, January 08,2014 1: 33: 33 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem