What needest I this mirror that shows not half thy part,
Of ages that are dead under the Archangel's brow?
That through emerald eyes of titanic visions afar,
You paint me the picture of thy most high deserts,
Some unreflected Being, hid away from out of sight,
Hath beset many a maiden garden ere thine unweird eye:
Uneclipsed of looks so fair, my mind, by what I write,
Oft illumines more bright where least I find my love, abides by thee alone;
To fill the emptiness of e'ery falling star in winter cold,
Dragged along a mast-shaft of broken reed at north,
The crow's quill beside, of a hundred shadows by thy grave,
I, too, hath stood and wept against time's waking hour;
Ere you know the hand that writ in mournful numbers
E'ery flower upon a barren heath in hurtlings of past woe.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2014.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Sunday, August 24,2014 8: 48: 35 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem