Far, far away from out of sight,
I sit still unmoved by what I write
Of eternal silences, beneath the bed of crimson joy;
That untouched by e'ery falling star in winter cold,
My love that abides by thee alone,
Of untread places to a land of fairies,
Opes a garden unto my unweird eye!
A sponge of tears to the fabric of day-dreams,
Cooled in the morning's pure serene:
The sun on my back in hurtlings of past woe,
Oft marked by a wanton tapestry at thy throne,
Too soon shall fade e'ery flower upon a barren heath.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2014.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Monday, September 22,2014 5: 07: 53 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem