I The Petals <br /> <br />I named my humbleness long ago <br />On earth scratching names of love <br />Like a medal on your chest to know <br />What beauty shall it look on my door <br />I puffed the petals on the cold breeze <br />Where it blows through The Groove <br /> <br />II Dried Flowers <br /> <br />Dried flowers lie on the papers <br />With dust in books for the day <br />To the soil like seeds of love <br />My songs were muted that night <br />I felt having been sculpted in stone <br /> <br />III Mystique <br /> <br />I feared the day when deafness <br />Numb as I am I cannot create <br />A masterpiece from memory alone <br />Like great Beethoven in his age <br />Those books told me something <br />About myself when the mystique <br />Feminine in love all encompassing <br /> <br />IV The Deadliest Weapon <br /> <br />They thought I carry the deadliest weapon <br />When my secrecy was broken it was <br />Scent of spices from the pouch so deep <br />Waiting to be put on the evening when <br />Festival in spring shall bring autumn <br />Close to hearts like green of grapes <br />8/7/2009 <br /> <br />From: The Groove<br /><br />Sadiqullah Khan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/like-green-of-grapes/
