PASSION
Here on a collected laurel
Perhaps you are nearer
Weaving the flutter of indelible wind
Piling on unfeigned moon,
Till the mumbling - immense
And sieve wet clarity.
Your raiment of glaucous sky
The whole and mended,mused
In wistful serenade; shortly that
Memorizes much curable,
Quick drops making room.
And those days lurk in weathered plume
While oblivion sidles in wide, subdued
window; apparently some
Linger the tunes of arborial lute.
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Copyright © 1997 Shawkat Haider |