Hobby-Horse Poem by Naveed Khalid

O horrible, horrible, awhile but to think on thee,
Behind the corner of that street along the corridor,
Of such stuff that arise from sneer of cold command;
I could see through the window-pane of rose-coloured glasses
That man-in-the-moon with old baggage,
Carry a satchel on his way back to school;
The carpet upon half-way between his iron-poker,
Treads the mundane shell in heaven's high bower:
That in the back of my mind to e'er melting snow,
Too, but bends the world at my door of rosemary garden,
Of cherubim Wing to heaven sings, my love, by the sweat of thy brow,
That crow's quill beside, at sunset of the evening sky;
Of unhindered scope to light, bereft of eyes so blind,
To untread places far-off thy most high deserts upon the sand dunes,
Of blackened earth's infernal grave against bloody tyrant time,
Shall ne'er wake me from this dream of yore,
A horse-on-saddle at his knee touched the ground, too deep for woe,
Makes beauteous my nights by day's toil too bright,
Twice by far removed from thee upon the page is printed, printed,
E'ery flower upon a barren heath in my bed of crimson joy.


(C) Naveed Khalid


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Date Created: Date Created: Saturday, June 13,2015 7: 23: 51 PM

*Some of the lines re-arranged and republished