A Rocking Chair Poem by Naveed Khalid

No, me not myself to claim
full measured scope
of ill-fetched schemes down the lane
in amber woods,
floundering flies of unfathomable sea,
this world of wild hunches at my door;
above the mundane, of wayfarer's clime,
e'ery flower upon a barren heath:
hung aloft the ghastly night I still behold
beside the oak my shipwrecked dreams
against the setting sun in whose age-old love,
much stressed out note no heart can afford
in syllable or rhyme, small minions that arise
from yellow-pages of history,
of ages that are dead upon the sand dunes,
first frost of falling winter snow,
of wrinkled lip in my spilt words
this vertigo of yore drifting dream amiss;
while musing o'er the dale thy iron car at Matilda's farm
can ne'er illumine at the gallows of thy feet,
of e'ery departed look in the late evening,
heaven-ward bent that soldier's grave unknown
along the pavement of cow parsley,
of woe-begone days such stepping stones
her persistent cries under the Archangel's brow.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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All Rights Reserved.

* Title Revised: From To A Rocking Chair To A Sunset By the Western Isle