Machete Poem by Naveed Khalid

Machete



Of whom, they say, I know not, else make thee pretend
that to my mind still
of another rent at midnight lease,
some dry leaves of book in autumn
ere in the mellowing year of spring,
this world of my shipwrecked dreams
in the late evening, shows not half thy part
against e'ery flower upon a barren heath,
full glorious sun of our common affairs:
that bright-lit mirror of thy most high deserts,
no eyes can see to my love so blind,
bereaved of light my woe-begone days to some rivulet,
heaven-ward bent that soldier's grave unknown,
o'er the wall on high under the Archangel's brow,
many hath stood and wept thy outcast state forlorn,
that masonry's night too soon shall fade in summer's prime.

(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.

Created: Wednesday, December 16,2015 3: 49: 29 PM

Monday, October 24, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: summer time
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