Of plucked parsley e'ery flower upon
a barren heath,
unsettled floundering flies
of unfathomable sea
in my bed of crimson joy are printed, printed
against the setting sun my shipwrecked dreams
in wild ecstasy of pure heaven,
much too wreckage of a nerve at my door
of rosemary garden:
her night-long love from out of the blues
in still waters, this world all woe
along the pavement such stepping stones
in dismal shades of age-old grey;
that fair youth while musing o'er the dale,
of haystack and straw dry leaves of book
in autumn needest not thy iron car
at Matilda's farm,
mere wild wagoner's wheel in rust,
of clay and wattle-made thistles
under the Archangel's brow,
I could hear a rustle in the wind
of her anklets,
amidst the debris of ruined ashes,
measured by a distance of paradisiacal
injunctions in the rainforest,
above the mundane, half-way between
the carpet upon, of snow-capped myrtle
that motley's house by the corner
of street forty seven,
a tapping noise o'er my head,
down the lane in amber woods
upon the sand dunes, a drab note
of suspended consciousness to eternal bliss.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2016.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Thursday December 01,2016.4: 12 PM
* SS9
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem