Monday, August 28, 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 pass all bitter days,
Happy days pass quickly like a cannon shot,
How short is life on earth when I gaze,
Sweet less and bitter more in my poor lot
When the sorrows encircle I dig the grave,
To get back my happy days from your eyes,
To gladden my poor heart then I crave,
To die in your soft arms my death spies.

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