Christening Poem by Naveed Khalid

I'll not bother thee again with what I least contend,
that to my reckoning days more bright
of untamed heart's forfeited first,
too, but hurts me to think on thee
than if less with love at break of day arise, my son,
of ages that are dead from earth's infernal grave
to that day of unaltered eye in thy presence alone;
I find myself at odds with what I can see not,
all too well writ in my mind, in trash and tinsel hides,
of so scant a resource to fill the page in dreary night's cold repose,
Nor hath e'er found solace from out of the blues in still waters,
that in solemn strain this barren rhyme to west wind of autumn;
oft goes soaring high above the dale through hurtlings of past woe,
this world of a vanished eye in waste of words so blind,
a foul fawning bay at my door of unnerved blood in vein,
full ripe gourd of hazel nuts in my account;
ere you know the hand that writ in mournful numbers
e'ery flower upon a barren heath,
more temperate than darling buds of May.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Tuesday, December 09,2014 5: 25: 28 PM