Oft men pipe up of vales and gales,
That wobble spring buds and leaves,
And of old unsung fairy tales,
Before lovers meet, of that eves.
Of Unravished bride and fair kisses,
Arcadian jiffies beside their beau,
And of ardent wishes,
Of throes afore they bid adieu,
Moorish eyes are lecherous and wild,
And daffodils that are myriad,
Oft my vale’s frosty spell that is mild,
And it’s Alps that rest in parade,
Oh ye martyr! Of your deed,
And whither ye lie, of that land,
Of piping songs be gentle in need,
Fiery Sahara; Of both, the Sun and sand,
Aladdin’s carpet and magical wand,
Faerie child in folk tales,
Of divers mirthful tinge in band,
Of Lucy sylvan wandering in vales.
These are beautiful, they all,
Has but ever men seen true beauty?
Why never they return when fall,
Their eyes glare then at beauty true.
What tempts men dream vice dreams,
Tell me the water that grow weed,
And wastelands that harvest screams,
Who are these, who they feed ?
This ain’t beauty but what is hidden,
Beneath their ravishing veil,
Behind sham miens, is all ridden,
Their evil deity afore they oft kneel.
These men, poets and noble souls,
Who blurt of transient beauty and,
That bliss their transient souls,
Has ever they returned back to land?
Demise be Elysium than forever lasting,
Among men abiding from truth fasting,
Why men’s mortal eyes can’t espy deity?
They ain’t but wild of truth, true beauty.
Poet is studying in Class 12th at Aligarh Muslim University and can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.