To My Mourner
Turn not deaf to the stern clamor,
Frozen upon my mourner’s lip;
Whose cry has weakened the desire in me,
Desire to rest in the arms of slumber;
Greeting my open eyes, tired,
For an infinite slumber!
That shall transcend the limits of serenity,
And whisper to me the music of eternity;
Turn not blind to that covetous bosom ,
Holding haplessly to a mocked heart;
And a deluge of despair
Down his pale cheek streaming,
For who shall dry his abrasive skin?
With tears, filling one lipless grin!
And I lay muted in my hallowed bier,
While the fists of oblivion upon my wreath,
Get me acquainted with this calamity in spare
Following the era of my departure;
But to my mourner, I ask
To mourn me not with an apparel of black;
To lament me not with such brooding contrition;
And shed not tears upon my bed;
And chant not of my departure;
Rather look for my closure
Copyright © Parray Shahid | Year Posted 2015
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