Both, my eyes; have hit an unknown storm -
the undoer of my marry Spring,
beneath my brow, is a gushing form,
did a drench'd cheek -to a yearner bring.
my auguries, that once blessed with love,
have gales become, for a trial of;
the touchstone of my faithful shape -
the loyal shadow, when future rake,
does my pain emit, a cunning drape,
that when praise of love, the evils shake;
still, endure this I, to phase submit,
but, wit, my wit -is my patience fit,
are my gardens, for these storms to reave,
the fruits to come -of better degree;
Or will steadfast be love, if believe,
in shade of the fruitless, standing tree.
Maybe, the grandeur of love is not grand
unless we bear -our share of pains at hand.
R.N.Khan, © 2011
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem