I could see that reeling shadow o'er the wall on high,
crawl beneath the bed of crimson joy,
that in darkling inkpot of ruffled feathers;
too, but stirrs the mind with so much of extravaganza,
of golden tress his hair upon the strand of still waters,
uneclipsed of e'ery fair from thy fairest brow,
this world holds a myriad stars in my account;
of eyes so blind at the gallows of thy feet:
while heaven's torch above my head for the pass-o'er,
they called for another day break at my door, too deep for woe,
arise, arise with hands stretched across a y-pointing pyramid;
soon as something fell upon a tree with a bulging eye, goes green,
of furrowed fields against the harvest moon more bright
to beweap my outcast state forlorn in the forest wild,
far from the maddening crowd, still lies buried in the treasure trove,
that crow's quill of sweet-scented letters to a close afraid.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Wednesday, April 01,2015 6: 36: 44 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem