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Musings of A Troubadour

ACROSTIC

An angel upholds an ample umbrella
'Neath which many multitudes of the songsters thrive
Novice in the arts and the erudite both
Enter that haven of flourishing glory
Together they pour their various hearts out
Tuning the lyres to melodic symphonies
Engaging in contests win recognition

Nature smiles at the nobility of deed
Altruistic heart of happy angel shines
Singing praise of the absolute creator
Such the luminous star of soulful glitter
Essence of humanity haloes her soul
Refinement delights to adorn her person

© SAFDAR BHATTI

A SONNET TO SETTING SUN

When Helios dwindles from here away
On the selfsame hour it shines on Britain
Within me starts raging sombre foray
Of nostalgic throes, of heavier pain

My longing heart you waft away with thee
My eyes, the poorest exiles, gaze for long
Now bright now dim with dreaming ecstasy
And weltering hopes within bosom throng

Darker shades of eventide sadly fall
Pelting heavily on the sullen breast
And cardiac effusions crying call
"O when their hankered sightings eyes be blest?"

Abruptly heaves the bosom colder sighs
And briny dew glistens in yearning eyes.
© SAFDAR BHATTI

EVENTIDE MUSING

There dwelt a man of much learning
From the poets of longer yore,
In a small village turning into town

He was born to a farmer
Rough and crude
Despite whose father's trying
He couldn't attain to high school

And the man of much learning
The farmer's eldest son,
Took a very fond fancy
Of being himself the same one or a day
As were his friends of the buried past

He had a flitting soul once
In the days he hitherto had worked,
He dreamt and dreamt a lot
Both day and night, a pervert Joseph,

Love in all its purity was all
He longed for whole of his life
But attain to it he could never
Except in the mildewed leaves
Had been quilled centuries ago

Only there he found what truth was
Only there he found the most truthful one
It proved relieving in the mercenary hustle
Hissing around on every side

He couldn't help sailing along the stream
Through many a windy by paths
In the deserted woods, all moss and hay,

He saw there, Saturn, sullen and sad
Expelled by his own blood, he saw
The aspiring youth driving sun's cart
All along the bluer camouflaging

And bold Ixion put to hold a wheeling rock
And the stalwart Mars trapped in a net
And the shameless hussy smiling by

There saw he, Hesione picked by boaters
And the Ilion burnt in a night
Helen sailing with the jilted king again
And many myriad, other of the kind

He had quite surfeited until then
When a new dawn appeared suddenly
Kindling in his teemed head
A fortunate ray of glistening sparkle
Showing him on to a garden

The garden of delight you may it call
For there nothing lack of aught and ever
The rushy streams of milk, of honey
And very translucent rills of eternity

The joyous lawns of verdure neatly trimmed
Tall trees on all sides fresh and green
Hymning night and day the glorious praise
Attract the hearts of a royal descent

A youthful host of meekly port
Bright in faces, in the eyes bashful
And none so royal in the worlds you find
Like the youths, the dearest divine guests
Reclining on the couches embroidered
With burnished gold and silver

And the young stewards in richest attires
Tending them round and round
With whatever food they desire
Flesh of fowls of every genre
And whatsoever elixir they like to drink
It's present forthwith in a wink
And it's not a mere fanciful brooding
The truth is what I'm striving to report

And the weather is always spring there
Flowers of sundry kinds glowing in bliss
Breathing such the richest odors
No one ever smelled all the air around

There is no revel not the least
But peace and pious delight
Cradling the life everywhere.
© SAFDAR BHATTI

SAFDAR BHATTI is a published poet who has been writing whole poetry since 1994.
'PHILOGYNY' is the title of his book published from the UK. His verses have been
commended by the various dignitaries including Queen Elizabeth, University of
Manchester, Chief of the Air Staff, Pakistan Air Force, National University of Modern
Languages Pakistan and many more individuals. He is also a member of The Poetry
Society London. He has an M. A. in English Literature. A widely read scholar in almost
all the major English poets from Langland and Chaucer to Thomas Hardy along with
Poets and tragedians of Ancient Greek and Rome. He lives in a small village called
Marri, in district Sargodha of Pakistan. Besides poetry, he is also working on short
stories and verse plays. He intends to publish his poetry in Urdu within a short time.

Musings of A Troubadour
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