Beauty

Adnan Tahir Qureshi, Pakistan

Beauty

The wise sage, I heard, on the mountain top,
Beauty is Truth, nothing more.
My shaken heart has not but to cry,
How a monster be a dame.

Where this red, the newly picked rose snatched,
The pale gardener tells me the truth.
Glare of the red brushed all the smiles,
Not one left, from the lips blazed.

Spelled the dancing beauty white, a hungry lord,
Of downy cotton, as snow in the hot.
Whispers the beauty in the ear of someone,
No worry, you can’t go void of shroud.

Thirst is the beauty, for the shriveled throat,
Mad to pursue the sea of sand.
So often has seen the ocean of time,
Truth is beauty, but beauty drowns.