A Mouse Trap

Not yet in my rhyme, o'ershadowed by
a lone bark of a tree,
has but the last scope of this dull, common
round of day, fills me with
thy most high deserts, our esteemed poet's mind,
of deserted looks more subtle in reality of yore
dappled things this world of my shipwrecked dreams
beyond the sunrise, of wayfarer's clime, a broccoli,
beneath the bed of crimson joy, outspread some dry
leaves in autumn of thy book, a star-y velorum!
goes soaring high above the dale in silent
hours of soliloquy; much stressed-out note
of clasped hands the lark at heaven's gate sing,
sing upon a barbed wire at midnight lease,
of wrinkled lip in my spilt words upon
the sand dunes, the setting sun at my door,
of silver angels in age-old gray;
beside the oak, weighed down by my bagpies,
of maiden pride her night-long love
down the lane in amberwoods, a lurking limbo,
walks past the old wooden house, tip-toe,
tip-toe! the music of her anklets I hear
from off thy ancient lyre again that tapping noise
of wild horses o'er my head,
a hundred shadows by thy grove be still
against time's devouring hand of veneral amores
runs in deep sorrows the sea, the sea of first frost
her falling snow of soring thumb impressions,
small minions that arise from Santa's mini skirt
of a dragon skin at clover-beach,
the boat is slowly drifting away from
where blue-bells hang in the backyard
of rosemary garden, pricked with a furr coat
in the cellar-barn, blows the trumpet horn
under the canopy of a hut, of furrowed fields
half-way between the carpet upon thy iron car
at Matilda's farm, mere wild wagoner's wheel
in rust; of plucked parsley e'ery flower upon
a barren heath; full rich content of some vulgar
paper to rehearse among waded lots of wonton mire,
indeed! by thatch-eaves plays a hunch for the parade
that half-baked masonry's night, of laurel wreath
thy myrtle crown in the late evening.

(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2017.
All Rights Reserved.



Date Created: Monday, August 07,2017.2: 23 PM

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by Naveed Khalid

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