Still I can behold that leafless tree in autumn,
That e'ery falling word against a star in the vaulted sky,
Oft goes unchecked by the world in rustle of the wind,
Such soft murmurings in season's smooth-sailing rhyme,
Tortured by hate, ah, in bitterness sweet of salt mines!
My feet half-sunk beside the lake in stony ripples;
And Poet's pen by what oft stirrs the mind, lies dead,
Cold and crystal diamonds of laurel-wreathe thy myrtle crown,
I write in three beats of unnerved blood in vein,
So sickening to the bones my love by stressed-out note,
Grows old as a halo in Beulah's night around my head,
The stardust coat on a peg of white bier to brave the day,
All her amorous cries echoing back in my ear.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2014.
All Rights Reserved.
*Republished
Date Created: Tuesday, May 13,2014 3: 36: 58 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem