Naveed Khalid Poems

This is not love that by love you deny,
Nor what in my thought I can ne'er comprehend,
Hath left no impression of poetry whatsoe'er;
And I feel I am in love, bound by thee,
...

Mere beauty of such looks that haunts the text,
That in thy unattended presence to my eyes so blind,
Oft breaks the dream through e'ery pouring shadow;
This world of what I write to my love,
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O ye in whose enchanting slogans of disparity
e'ery fig leaf in autumn wind,
oft in precious minutes waste by Poet's pen,
of what I write to my eyes so blind,
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I can ne'er know by what cruel hand or eye,
what worst time of the year to that day of morning's pure serene,
I behold my love that grows to eternal bliss;
that of erased looks this world to my mind still
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Of my first writings in sweet-scented letters,
I have known through hurtlings of past woe,
Distilled from history pages his same old facade,
That in higher spirits tolls the bell at my door;
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No first look in the sun that by love you define,
Of such crippled countenance to my sightless view
Have I e'er found worthy of thy perusal
That through tempest beats of my heart's studded feelings arise;
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Of unchartered depths to my mind still in graceful ease,
Alone but to father her gracious muse at Matilda's farm,
Away from out of sight, my love, in dreary night's cold repose;
This embassage of what I write thee in sweet-scented letters,
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Some stroke of unnerved blood in vein,
a rupture wild from out of no where
that through studded feelings arise
to a perplexity of interlocked assumptions,
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The stars are stunn'd to see
the reality of the world,
which you have created:
a grand show
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When the rhythm of a meter moves afoot,
not more thy feet in my lines count;
but the beats of my heart know,
how oft you drop thy skin-tight garment;
...