Thus, they took me o'er like I knew not who I am,
a quick sand against the world
of eclipsed doom to bloody tyrant time;
still I seek to write how I used to be,
nothing doing, awhile but to think on thy sweet lot
than what the stars in secret influence comment,
that in white robes of heaven,
all wrapped in Hades of a star:
ere you threw me against the picture with such subtle thought,
needest no light that crow's quill ere thine unweird eyen,
less used to flow to e'er melting snow,
my woe-begone days at sunset of the evening sky.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created; Thursday, September 03,2015 8: 08: 01 PM
* rewritten with a few modifications.
Title Revised: A Flying Bed
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem