My love of sluggish times more to my reckoning days,
Erased of all forms, such darkling insights to bewail the night,
That unnerved blood in vein, of ages that are dead;
Perhaps in solace of compounded clay my haggard bones,
Will but hold nothing more than what in ill-omen,
Lies buried with me in solemn strain this barren rhyme:
This world at hand by beauty's furtive glance, more sweet,
To behold from afar, full rich abundance in thy presence,
All fair by fair means foul, flawed in e'erything,
Remains confounded in misconstrued notions of the mind,
Her unattended looks at white's lease to illumine more bright,
Than double-dark's forfeited first at break of day arise.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2014.
All Rights Reserved.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem