A Walk-Through Gate Poem by Naveed Khalid

No needest I to beget her charms,
of way too far a golden clime,
be but of woe-begone days
her night-long love,
of thought so insidious this world
at my door of rosemary garden,
beside the oak, first frost
of falling winter snow, tinged with
star of old under the bolted sky!
the dust-cover'd page of thy book,
outspread in leaves of autumn,
of wrinkled lip in my spilt words;
of beauty's grace thy most high deserts
against the setting sun my shipwrecked dreams,
along the pavement of cow parsley,
e'ery flower upon a barren heath,
half-way between the carpet upon
such stepping stones no dark can e'er illumine,
of ages that are dead upon the sand dunes,
of laurel wreath thy myrtle crown,
that hides from eternals, a drab note
of suspended consciousness in my bed
of crimson joy, down the lane
in amber woods, clay and wattle-made
thistles by the stream upon the strand of still waters.

(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2016.
All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Monday, December 05,2016.1: 37 PM