A Candle-Lit Dinner Poem by Naveed Khalid

Not riches of gold, nor beauty
of her looks to the lark,
shall find more scope in largess
of some thought alone,
where but the troubled sea of veneral amores
runs in deep sorrows; my sweet-scented letters,
beside the oak, a broccoli, of way too far
at midnight lease is measured by a distance
of the world: the setting sun of silver angels
in age-old gray, while musing o'er the dale in silent
hours of soliloquy, the sailing boat of moon-lit tide
is decked ashore from out of the blues in still waters;
away from the banks of silken-satin:
against tempest beats of unnerved blood in vein,
o'ershadowed by lone bark of a tree,
hath spread some dry leaves in autumn
of thy book, of first frost her falling snow
at clover-beach, pricked with small minions
of soring thumb impressions; full many glorious days
of her night-long love still to my decaying form abides,
of seventy winters have thy November!
entombed within e'ery flower upon
a barren heath oft steal from my bed
of crimson joy, half-way between the carpet upon
on horse's back they led me through the door
of rosmeary garden, this perisher's stone of bohan
unto my shipwrecked dreams that motley's house
of mortal clay under the bolted sky.


(C) Naveed Khalid


Copy Rights (C) 2017.

All Rights Reserved.


Date Created: Monday 19,2017.12: 35-42-43-47-99 PM

Title Revised: From A Curse of id To A Breakfast Table To A Light of Persia To A Candle-lit Dinner To A Moonlit Tide