I am no Lord's favourite, that in whose love
of elliptical illusions,
her departed looks in cold serene,
bespeaks of Monty Carlo's venomous pride,
o'er the wall on high by two lovers dead,
I seek not to tell thee of my woe-begone days
divided by night, my shipwrecked dreams!
goes soaring high above the dale with pen-pricked angels,
no dark can e'er illumine at sunset of the evening sky;
else in simple fold my vain endeavour goes loitering around the world,
full glorious sun of our common affairs but to thee suffice,
that day of unaltered eye in my bed of crimson joy.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Sunday, October 18,2015 4: 50: 56 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem