Of such stunning reality this world,
not least in presence of the mind,
some lost threads of thought,
too dear in thy providence of lost memory,
no need to prove thee virtuous
in thy presence alone;
that crow's quill on wings, on wings,
hath writ this embassage
upon the strand of still waters
at sunset to a close afraid
her enchanting slogans of disparity,
sticks out his head of soring thumb impressions,
no dark can e'er illumine beyond the sunrise,
against so scant a resource to fill the page
of thy most high deserts, besmeared with time,
oft goes unchecked by the west-wind in autumn,
beside many a longevity of thy love,
e'ery flower upon a barren heath
steals looks from my bed of crimson joy,
that day of unaltered eye in heaven's high bower,
I still behold to my shipwrecked dreams.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Thursday, October 22,2015 1: 56: 08 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem