A Spring Festival Poem by Naveed Khalid

I know not whither, from off
to thy lost memory,
that in dismal shades of age-old grey,
what time in the mellowing year of spring,
this world of our unmet desires
hath brought thy dream back home;
of hundred shadows by thy grove,
ah, that shows not half thy part:
somewhere from behind the curtains
you unveil thy most high deserts,
that crow's quill beside the oak tree,
besate upon the stone of Bohan,
of untread places far-off beyond the sunrise,
through the staircase window of the wall on high,
amidst the debris of ruined ashes,
I still am looking, looking by two lovers dead
against e'ery fig leaf in autumn wind
with pen-pricked angels thy rosemary garden,
sticks out his head like a soring thumb impression.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Monday, October 26,2015 2: 09: 19 PM

Title Revised: From A Spring Festival