Must I live this dream of broken mast-shaft at north
that in silent hours of the night,
of my darkened days to some rivulet blue;
too deep for woe of what I write to eyes so blind,
a broccoli, beneath my bed of crimson joy to account for love
against the world of thy most high deserts,
a straw hat on knees in ruffled feathers,
down that road under the canopy of a hut:
of untread places far-off upon the sand dunes,
they led me by the horn through staircase window of the wall;
that crow's quill as marigold in autumn wind by the sea-shore.
of some such snowflakes in winter cold at sunset of the evening sky.
(C)Naveed Khalid
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Date Created: Tuesday, February 24,2015 4: 08: 13 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem