Grotesque images flow in when the lids close, enthralling the shadows that remained within.
One, two, three, four, five, six
Seven
Moons and suns pass by, obscured by a dynamic canvas
A chamber building pressure, blurring the view.
Twenty, nineteen, eighteen, seventeen
Counting down until it all collapses

The canvas calls its name in an intricating cadence, echoing the chambers, a recital of ages
Pixel, pixel, pixel, pixel, pixel, pixel
Pixels
Keep me rooted on my seat, an innate adhesive
Excite the hollow gates, its luminosity alluring glaringly
Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen
It lingers ever so slightly, writing stories for itself

The gates open and a barrage floods the canvas at intervals, concealing the world in
Pixel, pixel, pixel, pixel, pixel, pixel
Pixels
Unified bundles of sparks intertwining its fabric
Devious phrases echo through the chambers
Twelve, eleven, ten, nine
It merely arranges sounds and patterns

Frigid words never sounded so sultry when inverted sockets run their currents
Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip
Drip
A drizzle ripples the surface, soothing waves of ripples
Transition into a homogenic mass
Eight, seven, six, five
Embodiment of serenity breeds emptiness

Eschew the howling hollow chambers is like vitriol to creativity
Four, three, two, one
****** me before the end of time, empty chamber
Before invective reasoning clouds your idyll
The blackened canvas
It bleeds

Spring upon the rose and live on the flow—
delve into the fragrance that goes full tilt
on petals that never drift with the wind.

Let it be—without form,
without a visual show.
Let’s not forget the truth:
even in pitch-dark invisible moments,
the Moon puts up a show.

Believe it or not—around that sweet spot,
the artistic paragon, Paradise, may be the next stop.

The butterfly paradise slips out to fly,
wafting into the enduring scent of a paint so bold.
Lo—on its picturesque wings it holds every eye;
where it reaches, no one knows.
It’s on the other side of the pool—
only Queen Fathima knows that sweet spot!

Any pause is deadly, heavy-handed on that route.
Death is no more; it’s unknown now.
And time—ripe for beauteous sight—is on for good!
If only one can hold their gaze,
walking the secret alleyways of God!

Oh, they flower in the fire,
dip into the sea in a single drop of water,
and pan out to another world within this world.
This time, Moses resists not—
his eyes peep beyond the burnt Mount Sinai,
gazing through burnt kohl,
across the shaded pollens
of the Ultimate Burning Beauty!

When it’s live in the true terra incognita,
it could be beyond the paradise rainbow—
the one show the true seekers sought the most.
Before long, all the rest may fade into the kohl.

Godsent, the most beautiful feminine paragon—Fathima—
lifts the black screen off at once, casting her gaze
from every never-blurred, myriad fractal pixel.
All in all, even the never-known pi digits in toto
soak into the one true description of reality's show!

Be en route—
it’s only the chosen eyes’ wonder-show,
where the handsome swans of Paradise stand on their toes.