Then, this world of thy most high deserts
upon the sand dunes,
of clay and wattle-made thistles
by the stream,
a bristletail of her cherubim Wing no heart can afford,
above the skyline in a smudge of colours dissolve
e'ery flower upon a barren heath;
half-way between the carpet upon a mundane shell:
of wrinkled lip in my spilt words, my love, of eyes so blind;
a horse-on-saddle at his knee touched the ground!
in dismal shades of age-old grey beyond the sunrise,
that crow in whose ruffled feathers,
under the canopy of a hut in the late evening,
the Eagle on wings, on wings still musing o'er the dale,
no dark can e'er illumine beside the oak,
of fealty's Apollo tolls the bell at my door,
a broccoli, beneath the bed of crimson joy,
our little john with pen-pricked angels,
of woe-begone days my shipwrecked dreams
at Minerva's golden brow!
where squirrels make hoards in haystack and straw,
cuckoos sing to eternal bliss in the stable lay barefooted.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Monday, February 01,2016 12: 54: 20 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem