I am no inspiration any more
With lost eloquence and heart
Empty upturned for the blood
No more rushes to the head
In heat when the beauty distant
Closer to bosom like the fruit
Hanging low but still the desire
Flowers abundant the nightingale
Sings in isolation his tunes of lament
On the top of his tongue for the rose
Withering in the garden with the scent
Mingled in the wind where gone
The tree’s trunk is splitting in grief
What air in the garden thou autumn
In spring befallen yet few days more
Summer breeze in the afternoon
Sadness in the bud when the rose
Hid her face then to whom the song
I said I shall give my head in love
I say what a foolish pledge to make
Nor is the head nor is the love
Who knows when shall spring revisit
When shall rose then sprout her smile
17/4/2009
Sadiqullah Khan
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-the-rose-hid-her-face/