A Street-Hawker

Poem By Naveed Khalid

Whither shall I go but a way too long in heaven's high bower,
have by thee in love's sickness departed so,
her shadow upon some lone bark of a tree,
oft beguiles me by night when I my star
am looking through the skies of good old days,
whose golden dreams in autumn leaves
are still but shinning bright before the sun,
that song of a nightingale in worn-out time
too, hath fled from off thy ancient lyre
through e'ery looking glass
skipped beats of my heart's untamed feelings,
secrets of remote visions unfold,
of haunt'd house in darksome world abroad:
the room, the chair, the table, the bed and I
nothing am more than what you think of love,
Mother! native nature's empty glass the wall on high,
her enchanting slogans of disparity to my shipwrecked dreams.

(C)Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C)2013.
All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Monday, November 04,2013 6: 21: 00 PM

Title Revised from A Tribute To Mother To A Street Hawker

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Other poems of KHALID

My First Love

Everything looks pretty good at first sight,
But the more you focus the more you look at it,
Until from every angle loses charm
As more and more images start pouring in,

Nightshade

Oft I make hallow of a sun around my head,
tinged with stars of old in deep azure
of broken mast-shaft at north;
the four-squared wall on high o'er the lagoon,

Love Knows No Bounds

The setting sun in drowsy numbness
goes to bed but of late,
beside the oak tree among freshly sown seeds,
full ripe gourd of some hazel-nuts in my account;

Tomb

What I can bring to the surface of a page,
is far too less drown'd in a drop of tear,
dried of ink; than what in fathom-five hath sunk,
too deep for woe to tell thee of thy tale;

Buttons, Buttons

O ye speak not unto me of days that are gone
in silent hours of soliloquy,
no heart can afford from off thy ancient lyre
these yellow-pages of history to e'ery pelted grave

Agar, Agar

Needest not I to beweap my outcast state
forlorn,
away from e'ery departed look
to my shipwrecked dreams,