Naveed Khalid Poems

The most uncolour'd of all poetry
is the ilk of Muse herself,
that by the grey-matter of my mind
has a drifting dream amiss;
...

Nothing that by love of old-formed memory
To eyes so blind my reckoning days more bright
Than that forfeited dark if from a bowl of stars you drink,
This world of what in thy presence most abounds
...

No, not least in snowflakes of winter cold,
Of furrowed fields her harvest moon to e'er melting snow;
That to my heart's forfeited first at break of day arise,
This world of what I illumine more bright
...

I'll not bother thee again with what I least contend,
that to my reckoning days more bright
of untamed heart's forfeited first,
too, but hurts me to think on thee
...

I'll not speak to thee by what I write,
Of eyes so blind to my mind still unawares;
More blessed by what I know not,
Nor need to know what can ne'er be,
...

The fabric of that subtle thought I deny,
which to mind's eye still
holds perfect ceremony of words
to unending line, oft so blurred;
...

When at about time two we twain parted unawares,
Whilst all the panorama of this world beside,
Save I to beweep my outcast state forlorn;
That to a land of fairies abides by thee alone,
...

Methinks not in vain of what to my mind still,
I am warbling o'er his e'erlasting song,
that in thy graceful ease is more blessed
than in miseries to count I my reckoning days
...

When all the better part of me to account for love
of thy most high deserts,
that by beauty more to my eyes so blind;
of virgin mother born,
...

While where I stood alone amidst the debris of ruined ashes,
brimming with applause of some stray thoughts,
of furrowed fields against the harvest moon;
oft marked by what I write upon the strand of still waters,
...