Naveed Khalid

Of ready drawn arrows to count I
my reckoning days more bright,
covered with snow in stardust of Supernova;
away from e'ery wanton look to my eyes so blind,
...

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,
...

Thus, half so ill my distempered brain, doctor's folly-like,
Pestilence of vague impressions by far removed from thee;
Twice so sickening to the bones, my love, of ages that are dead,
That grows upon e'ery fig leaf in autumn wind,
...

O! give me a heart of such soaring looks
to a far-fetched sky my untread dreams
of smokey suburbs by the shabby island;
I can still behold in stardust of Supernova,
...

Me not much accustomed to such darkly insights,
that in modern electra of thy most high deserts,
of eyes so blind through e'ery pouring shadow at break of day arise,
that crow's quill of plumed hat on knees in ruffled feathers,
...

Of unsaid word too deep for woe,
that by writing more
of people from around the world,
I, too, find myself at odds with what I least contend,
...

I'll not show you the rosy picture
of that village girl dressed in muslin;
and in whose fabric of subtle thought
this adobe of a dream by night,
...

What needest I this mirror that shows not half thy part,
Of ages that are dead under the Archangel's brow?
That through emerald eyes of titanic visions afar,
You paint me the picture of thy most high deserts,
...

Let me first remove thee of all
vicissitudes of the sky,
that in vague impressions of poetry,
before my eyes in the public eye,
...

Of e'ery wanton look to nurslings of immortality,
This world forlorn in silent hours of the night,
Yet dreams of eyes to a close afraid;
'Gainst time's measured breath to count I
...

See! how this world too but barred of such looks,
that in silent hours of the night,
half-dumb, half-poisoned to the ear in ill-omen;
hath rendered numb my novice feeling
...

Of transient nature's eclipsed doom
to bloody tyrant time,
that in waste of words goes blind
of what I write through e'ery pouring shadow
...

This that you know not in presence of the mind,
that in unaccounted love remains
but a phantom of chalice wings
to far-off places unknown;
...

Soon as I depart from what by love
You illumine the world before the sun;
And not with eyes but to paint the skies,
The seraph wings of legendary figures,
...

How so vaguely hid away from my view this world,
That with all its presences no such matters;
And in the reality of things I can feel in my bones
What a dog am I who sees not his Master!
...

This world that leads me on to where no feet hath tread,
Nor no scope of light to my eyes so blind;
And all doors are shut under the bolted sky
Of thy unattended presence with no destiny in sight,
...

Lord! whence else oft I beget this dream,
So off-hand in the corn field a belat'd sight
Of unicorn's golden hour at midnight waking,
That his shoe-horse by the stable lay barefooted;
...

This world that by looking more to my mind still
of another rent at midnight lease;
a far-fetched sky of e'ery flower upon a barren heath,
beset against time's waking hour
...

Nothing in the world that by a shadow, my love,
Under the bower by thatch-eaves is run,
That to me my Lord hath revealed;
And not a mark in the moon-lit star
...

No dark by darkling insights
can bewail the night,
nor what by love the stars behold,
that in my writings less;
...