Book-A-Boat Poem by Naveed Khalid

O ye speak not unto me of how I
my days hath spent,
that in oblivion of a host,
amongst a thousand roses, farewell!
love of thy most high deserts;
from which no pretense to make thee
in vague impressions of poetry,
of ages that are dead in the late evening:
oft leaves me in dismal shades of age-old grey,
yellow-pages of history from nowhere arise, arise,
that through such quirks of the mind,
you make wither e'ery flower upon a barren heath;
beside the bed of oak in the twilight
this fedora of yore dream with pen-pricked angels,
of eyes so blind under the canopy of a hut,
must I hide from eternals that bewailing night asleep,
my shipwrecked dreams upon the sand dunes,
many hath cried and wept
that day of unaltered eye by the sea-ashore,
full glorious sun of our common affairs,
of laurel wreath thy myrtle crown,
I still behold against the harvest moon.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Friday, November 13,2015 1: 11: 54 PM