It  could never be written in prose ever
And in poems that so many litter,
Or painted on canvas in colorful attire
Or chiseled by the hands of a sculptor,
To know what I just utter
Close your eyes but not in slumber,
Listen to the inner voice coming from yonder
And the ringing bells  so clear,
It is all around, what a wonder
and all a part of it in surrender,
Everywhere is the same wonder
Some name it God while some the Creator,
To me it is all whatsoever
I am a slave and He the Master.

(BA Khan)