SONNET 295
By JH Sayyar
She has died but who is O God this?
Following me all day where I do go?
But heart does not like her soft relics,
If I have, kept them at home in a row,
I wonder! A shape how she did got,
Soul, not allows to leave birth place,
Why she hides her heavenly face!
I am wondered; how she me sought
Or my fancy, I am not in day sleeping,
My senses active; rusty with thoughts,
In my night conception my eye gloats
In search of you; it is my sullen lot,
Love and
luck always favor fools,
Young men’ toil: old amen’s tools
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