the evening rose

My Batting

Sweet Shelly! Dashing Byron! Sensuous Keats!
My philosopher, guide and friend
My poetry also now your magic repeats
Though ill-clothed and ill-trained

And most adored of all, great Shakespeare!
A happy blend of the three
You must be amused to see in your sphere
So boldly moving me

The apathy and contempt that I bore
Could not my spirits tame
How with my, handsome poetic store
1 would now care for fame!

Through Gazels, from Urdu’s shore to Hindi
A bridge I tried to build
I want to test now my feelings and sensibility
My batting in England’s field