I know not what pleasure seekest thy revenge
that in whose festering menace,
heaven-ward bent to becharm the skies,
her enchanting slogans of disparity,
of eclipsed doom to bloody tyrant time,
I still hold dear to my shipwrecked dreams
that fickled foe's untamed heart and cold,
hath brought me to this end by the sea-ashore:
e'ery flower upon a barren heath in my bed of crimson joy,
no dark can e'er illumine in the mellowing year of spring
against e'ery fair to prove thee virtuous in thy graceful ease,
that star of thy most high deserts under the bolted sky
of untread places far-off beyond the sunrise,
that in silent hours of soliloquy upon the sand dunes,
a compassed ark by that soldier's grave unknown,
that crow's quill beside, some dry leaves of book in autumn.
(C) Naveed Khalid
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All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Saturday, October 17,2015 5: 27: 33 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem