Valley of Blood and Henna

Scarlet I must always turn to
scarlet of burnt summer eves,
golden flakes of passive heaves
dirt and dust which redden hue
of wine’ful taste, scent’est henna
unto’ich spake the flowers of war,
naught a reason they grew for
but which due I dub them scilla.
Drunk on fallen dew their’s yonder,
memory mine is tempt to wander
far from this sweet valley Wana
fragrant as deep scarlet henna.
Passing I must always turn to
passing suns in mournful too,
fading fragrance with each noon,
to Hearkened dark, O! come thee soon.
Of where to has trodden darling
and where hath joy trodden to,
scent no more, no more of parting
henna burning summers through.

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18 thoughts on “Valley of Blood and Henna

  1. Hello Mr. Osama,
    First I must say forgive me for not commenting on your works sooner for I have read them for months. Your writing always leaves me feeling like I’m in the presence of a great living poet. The emotions you elicit and scenes you paint in my mind are fantastical to say the least! Thank you for your craft, it fills a certain niche in my week that I greatly look forward to!
    Take care,
    Jose Claus

    1. There is nothing to forgive, it is an honor in itself to have been host to your notice, if even so momentary, or late as you state. I thank you for your kind consideration and gentle words.

      Sincerely, I am,
      Osama Iftikhar

  2. Oh this is a wonderful blog! Your poems are precious to my heart. I will come back. (Thank you for visiting my blog). Kenza.

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