~ Brittle me, I wait … ~ Wintry northern wind doth blow, Blowing, so straight from heaven, Pinching, pricking, piercing, of me, Pieces of warmth, beholden, leaven … Oh, tell … would thou come too? With the icy breaths of November, Rubbing cheeks against the wall, Of the noon of my sultry slumber … Like a shriveled veined last leaf, I’d look out for thy silent arrival, Lynched on lone branch, so corny, Where a prosaic gust doth gravel … Tread softly, on my brittle terrain, For I’d seek, a secret soft wedlock, In the heaths, away from a coven, Wearing solitude, a whitish smock … Come as thee wish to … gently to me, Doth hurry, up the hill, would ye scurry? Wait await in my plain mournful eyes, Dry northern wind shalt pluck to bury! #SadiaKhan
Posted on: Wed, 10 Sep 2014 07:38:13 +0000
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015