Painting The Sky Poem by Naveed Khalid

And there by love my mind in waking hour
Where I my reckoning days most count;
And in numberless blessings will abound
The inner reality of your Being, too dear,
That to a spectator be still of beauty more
Than e'ery passing minute to endless time:
But O! this world from a bowl of stars to drink,
Of encrypted tongue is born of thine eye,
Too, shall fade away in hurtlings of past woe,
Against the broken arrow of his hollow reed.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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