The shadow players
A man and a son lived far away,
from the well awareness of the town.
they spent their days in the bay,
and never came down.
well wishes of wealth,
was unblessed on them.
for whom the world keeps health,
was missing as a gem.
the father worked sweaty,
in the scorching heat of sun.
and the son to sacrifice was ready,
when he left all the childhood fun.
he barely came the forest near,
where the father worked down.
but one day he stepped out fear,
with a happy frown.
he wished to see his father there,
axing all the woods.
for a moment at his sweat stare,
for the sake of the sonhood.
alone he got there on the eve of gloam,
and the sun shouting on the hills.
the birds were on way after the roam,
in a mixed version of pleasing thrill.
but before the sun could reach,
he saw his father down the road.
and the son made a surprising screech,
on standing on together aboard.
the father made a promise then,
on the well wish of his beloved.
tomorrow we shall rejoin at ten,
to watch sweaty on bring worked.
the promise was made but a heavy one,
father sat and thought.
the matter was far no fun,
which made him desperate a lot.
'cause he upholded no iron axe,
what his tools were a stone and a wood.
what seemed a lamp was a burned wax,
and he kept the bid of fatherhood.
the night to the father seemed a long,
but lord sustains the hope.
and he respected and he did no wrong,
when father found a gloomy slope.
the morning next arose from dark,
and let the father a thought new.
he understood the dawn's hark,
though the hope was a dangling few.
on the woods when the son got,
to see his father working in his tune.
and the love which a father had wrote,
protected his son as idol dune.
his father shouted stay aback,
and son dear watch my shadow.
in a series by stack and stack,
and in my tune gently flow.
the father pretended to axe the tree,
the son saw the illusion of shadows mere.
and it seemed like the world set free,
in a bond and love fare.
if someone would had given me a choice,
to choose the son or the father either.
have jumped in the rejoice,
and choose the father son bond and of them neither.
the father fell in the son's love,
moved his stone wood tool.
the son who was as tender as dove,
and believed under the belief as of woven wool.
the son understood this pleasing play,
and pretended to be of sense.
and saw how sweaty his father sway,
but was fallen in deep and dense.
the shadow showed and the son saw,
the love told and with son it shares.
the father kept his love open and raw,
amidst the delightful tragedy of shadow players.
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Comments about this poem (The shadow players by Muhammad Khalid )
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Edgar Allan Poe
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(17 September 1883 – 4 March 1963)
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- If, Rudyard Kipling
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
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