Midnight grief, thou art but a wick’s smoke
Burn me to ash, that before the last flicker,
Dawn is the traveler’s step on treacherous sand
Rise to the setting moon; let the urn sing the secret.
The cup-bearer’s tired hand, hold another cup
Yet the veil hath, the love’s face not revealed.
The fold of mystery shall shine on you soon
Soon shall be the stars laid your way.
Whisper to me, from beneath the dark clouds
Your hair my love, your lips be the candle
What a moth am I, before my sight, still reason?
Storms be my companion, the falcon taketh flight.
Sadiqullah Khan
Islamabad
May 7,2014.
William Francis (Will) Longstaff (Australian,1879-1953) , The Rearguard (the spirit of Anzac) @ carter’s
Great write...There is a flow in each line of your poem..I liked it a lot...Thank you...
Great write...There is a flow in each line of your poem..I liked it a lot...Thank you...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great write...There is a flow in each line of your poem..I liked it a lot...Thank you...