A Hopeless Being.
Oh Lord! Before in hell forsake,
dreams do remove from all the men;
strip them, their hope away do take,
or shall in hell rebel again.
The dreams I dream they aren't mine,
but of that learner courting hope,
at nightfall are a humble shrine,
in peaceful slumber envelop.
in sleep such obscure visions come,
while vulnerable am I whole,
the hostile sights my heart do thrum,
in mixed melody is my soul;
their beauty what does signify,
and those faces that are ne'er real!
Now do our breaths they dignify
or negate all --that we do feel.
Is poor most a dreamless being,
with flightless nights and yearnings sour,
his curse is a mind of stable seeing,
disowning growth forevermore.
Isn't useless hope that ne'er pays,
is present yet as thin as air,
though in the eye it always stays,
but to the reason seldom there;
these drinks of dreams I do condemn,
but life and death come from this cup,
I might have given up on them,
but will they ever give me up.
R.N.Khan, © 2012