No, not mere scope of wrinkled lip
in my spilt words,
can e'er illumine in the late evening
her stumbled feet upon the sand dunes,
beside the oak that half-baked masonry's night;
a broccoli, beneath the bed of crimson joy
against e'ery flower upon a barren heath;
the sun in whose love at midnight lease this world
of my shipwrecked dreams under the bolted sky,
of laurel wreath thy myrtle crown, sweet maid,
the heart that fed in nurslings of immortality,
outshines in white bier to brave thine holy eyen,
away from high heavens a man-in-the-moon,
mere wild wagoner's wheel in rust at matilda's farm,
cowslip his parted hair from slumbers deep arise, arise,
half-way between the carpet upon thy iron car
hides from eternals some fault lines in rosemary garden,
her musings o'er the dale with darling buds of may,
needest not this darkly drowned enigma of yore dream.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2016.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Monday, June 06,2016 3: 45: 54 PM
Monday, June 06,2016 3: 54: 57 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem