Love my love can not develop in mistrust and distrust
It is developed in sincerity of heart and sacrifice of soul
No doubt it is ****** by fortune but to be saved from rust
It does not come in chunks it takes a person as a whole

Beauty also needs purity and chastity by love to discern
If it is polluted it is nothing but just a third class passion
You my love are seeking in the story what is my concern
A thing of beauty needs a specif mannerism and a fashion

Pain refines love and gives color to beauty what I learnt
Love takes life step by step, beauty follows pace to pace
Like a candle burns a moth ,love with beauty is but burnt
But makes love and beauty to glow and celebrate the grace

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

In my life cage in anger to rage
I am bound to survive till end
With my Master I am on page
As a servant I am bound to bend

Life is what a test a quiz,a puzzle
It is continuous reckoning to see
I am like an innocent little angel
On wings of soul cover sea after sea

My struggle carries me to salvation
I've to be careful  throughout on path
I have to sacrifice my love and passion
Whether I embrace mercy or  wrath

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

I wonder if the universe listened
To the song of an aching voice,
If a weak heart wrapped in pain
Reached out to its imposing poise.

If it did, oh how I'd beg and plead
for it to tell its stars to re-align
To where I'd left my fairy tale unfinished,
And take me back to those simpler times.

You are the ending
to my wandering
Poem

Together, they were like that wiry hair with
A split end she would obsessively try
To peel apart,
Not sure if more harm would be done,
With or without it in her heart.
She knew she could cut it off
and be done with it in a go,
Yet she picked at it,
Deriving strange painful pleasures in tearing
Each other away,
Till he would fall into the abyss of oblivion,
And her, weakened, distorted,
A lone strand would remain,
Never would she be the same again.

She was a girl with a soft heart.
She was a girl who thought everyone was a piece of art.
She was a girl who cared about people.
And out of the blue came something lethal.
To **** the girl who was so loving.
Oh, death is coming.
Oh, Around the corner.
Certainly she is a goner.
But what is this?
It missed.
The sword that brought her death.
Did not take away her breath.
Death then turned and left.
The girl had passed the test.
The only problem now.
Is that she now learned how.
People die out of the blue.
It is reality that she now knew.
She could never view,
Life as she used to.
So it haunted her like the rest of us.
But I will stay quiet now, as this topic is something no one likes to discuss.

We dressed her in delicate silk
And gave her glittering jewels to wear,
A crown with rubies on the top,
And flowers for her fragrant hair

We placed wings on her dainty shoulders,
Crystal heels on her slender feet,
We draped her in beauty head to toe,
Gave her the shape of all our fantasies,

So that when we picked at her flawless skin,
And tore off her silken gowns,
When we pulled at her rose-petalled hair
And her lovely stone-studded crown,

When we chased her into darkness,
As she tripped on manacled heels,
When we watched her try to fly but fail
With bejewelled wings that were too heavy,

We could baffle her, confuse her, fool her
Into believing it was not our fault,
For we had revered and worshipped her,
Could the devotee be responsible for her fall?

Oh not at all!

She was too beautiful,
She radiated too much,
She was too pristine,
Easily dirtied on touch,
She was too striking,
She was too bold,
To not be stripped off of all that glitter
And all that shameless gold.

‘What a piece of work is a man!’
………           ………
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust’

From Shakespeare, through Hamlet
It rings down to generations
And falls heavily on my ears too
In vain, I attempt to probe into the mystery
Nay, the enigma called man
Both in the silence of my solitude
And in the learned circle of pundits

(Fool…..
Unable to find who you are
Can you venture to say who the other man is?)

Man is a jumble of contradictions,
I know….A hard nut to crack!
So unfathomable, so mysterious
At once a Satan and an angel

To the outer world I am someone
But in the well guarded cellars of my privacy
Aren’t I different?
Hiding my innards to light
As every other man

At times, I feel so proud
Excessively in love with my own image
Like Narcissus, the poor hunter boy
Fated by gods to languish
On the bank of a pond,
Over his own floating image!

However with all my strength within
Do I not feel as helpless as Prometheus bound?
Waiting for a Hercules to come
And save me from my plight
If Prometheus’ ******* was God willed
Mine is self willed…! Is the difference so very crucial?

Sometimes I feel I am Janus
Looking backward and forward
Into my past and my future
Never living in the present
Or am I more a Sisyphus
Eternally rolling a rock over to the hill
From where it keeps falling down

Sometimes I wonder
Amid the splendor, do I not starve?
Like Tantalus of Greece in the pool
Beneath the tree, with the low lying branches of fruits
Constantly eluding his grasp
And the water, ever receding before
He could take a drink!

As a poet how I wish I could
Equate myself with Calliope
Carving my mind on the wax tablet
With stylus, my pen and coloring it with my fancy
Or Orpheus, so skilled in music
That with my sad musings
I can make even Hades weep
And the rocks fall in line

I shudder to be a Medusa
Turning everyone to a stone
With my sinister glance!
Instead, I want to be one of the Graces
And never one among the Gorgons

Pitched in this gallery
Of queer mythological entities
I wonder how I appear to others
And whom I resemble more!