Stigmata Poem by Naveed Khalid

No, me not myself to claim
that man-in-the-moon
of lost memory to another's plight,
be my only woe to be one with thee alone,
amidst many a love lost in the twilight
of thy most high deserts, sweet maid;
that through the staircase window
of the wall on high by two lovers dead:
must I hide from eternals this world
of my shipwrecked dreams at sunset of the evening sky,
that crow's quill beside, a drifting dream amiss
of woe-begone days that by the sweat of thy brow,
goes loitering around the world,
of ages that are dead in my bed of crimson joy
under the hedgerow of a cottage-tree,
a-going, a-going to that day of unaltered eye.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Saturday, October 10,2015 8: 10: 32 PM
Saturday, October 10,2015 8: 12: 14 PM