Thursday, March 30, 2017

JH Sayyar's Sonnets

208
I bury sweet days in your cunning eyes,
Like dead in graves yea for time being,
Before this my poor soul to Almighty flies,
The wrinkled face tells my age is fleeing.
Slowly and slowly do pass all bitter days,
Happy days pass quickly like a cannon shot,
How short is life on earth when I do gaze,
Sweet less and bitter more in my poor lot
When the sorrows encircle I dig a grave,
To get back my happy days from your eyes,
To gladden my poor heart then I do crave,
To die in your arms my death me spies.

How can I think of building a lodge on earth?
The thief death spies me since my poor birth.