My Muse in waste of words
hath lost all meaning,
all sense of purpose;
and what use this art,
this craft of a woman,
whose love is but for a moment,
shut out from the world,
I think things through her curious eye;
but there is nothing that I image forth
except her garment of a tatter'd soul.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2013.
All Rights Reserved.
*Republished
Date Created: Saturday, January 19,2013 2: 59: 56 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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