The body is for life but only to die
then there is an exception not all is linear
there is a feminine rose after the death
for her no more death on Earth!
She was there before the first matter
it was in the making before her eyes.
The first and foremost luminary feminine
moved on heartily panning flawless flow
aligning into the finest angle of the first matter.
Across the nadir to the zenith
Fathima eyes on upon it as it comes to be
shaping and forming art of miracle:
One true masterpiece without a mirror!

Arts on the go Fathima moves on
praise be to the Lord she being made to measure
mathematically perfect by birth the pi is her!
(The pi tends to circle the blank space within is feminine
while the circumference of the circle is masculine)
She can budge equally in the shadow
in patternless pi decimals and in the open,
in integer and into a whole full number!

Hops up her first step she looks for ‘the all’
the complete whole the absolute one Allah.
Time and again she steps up but finds no floor
her measured step by default lays on 360-degree circles
and scans everything at the first go still finds no bottom!

The first luminary masculine peace be upon him
first looks in the open she takes the veiled angle.
Through the evermore pi decimal micro-hole
she looks on and witnesses the first matter a water drop
surfaces up without a base without a roof on top!
It follows through truly the copy of the original
softly springing around the serene water paints  
of all the maters to be created from this first drop.
Fathima looks at it and veils withdraws her reflection.
Little chip bottomless deep into the finest nature
Fathima instills countless Boolean gates making
access to her beyond digital and AI and conditional.

The sky hasn't yet forgot that follows suit
first, a star was born stepping in Fathima’s shoe.
It tried so did the full set of the galaxy only to disperse
into a profound constellation never finds the bottom.
Amidst this water circle floats the first soil
Allah called it His house that He first created from it.
Every planetary orb pilgrimage around it in the core
named the Ka’abah up to the heart of the earth it rose.

In the pre-designed world following the first masculine
Fathima the first feminine pilgrimaged around it
not in the open but strictly in the patternless pi veil.

Nature is never uneven on the hand of the uneven pi
every little fraction a small decimal counts connects to the dot showing and without showing a pattern
long live, long live the digital charisma is on the rise!

The sun rises and retraces back in the middle lane,
the black box scores at the end of the day it's only a dark chart!
The Moon is yet to moon over an unturned sublunary-dip
It pulls all, the mighty sea that the earth can't
and syncs into the feminine water cycle but save only one
with Fathima floating out of the box it can’t link up!

Like millions, ever wonder where Fathima’s grave is?
The earth strived too to the death bite to print her footprint!

The rush
The energy
The spark
It's flowing through me
Making me shiver
Feeling like I should turn around
But instead
I press my lips harder to hers
My hand
Behind her head
I strike through her hair
As only the stars as our witness
That for one moment
Our heart beat
Syncs
And we are one

I opened my eyes
I could feel the rush going through my body
The energy made me feel burned
Burned by love
Everything was here
Except her
All I could find that was left
Was one white feather

I returned to my bed
As I layed my head down
To hide my tears
Alone I cry
With one feather
Close to my heart

I'm waiting

He cries, tells her it's the last time.
Cherry lips and violet eyes,
She lies because she's so broken
She can't remember how it felt to be whole.
A boy too small to fight,
Though that doesn't stop him from trying;
A little girl who will never know that love doesn't include bruises and broken bones.
She could leave,
But she knows he'd find her as he has so many times,
Wandering the highway somewhere between the 5th and 9th time
She ponders whether it hurts worse to live or die.
Her baby in her arms and one trailing behind,
A shotgun aimed between her eyes,
She'll climb inside his old blue pickup truck,
Which is somehow colder than the October night.

She hears the whispers—
Illegal. Dependent. Brainless.
Can they not see their own reflection in her tired eyes
And realize that if the stars aligned differently,
They could have been the one wearing sweaters in the summer
And sunglasses in the grocery store?
As she pushes the shopping cart home,
She says a silent prayer that he'll be gone,
But he never is.
When her nose bleeds on the tile
She no longer cries,
Just syncs the pounding in her head with her heartbeat, screaming,
It's over. It's over. It's over. It's—

I promised myself that was the last poem about you.
But,
I've always been one of those people who
plays the same song on repeat
until it syncs with my heartbeat
and rattles my bones to dust.
or who
re-reads the same books until
the lines become my holy scripture,
the plot become my genesis and
my body becomes a canvas for a script I know by heart.
My head is filled with drafts for poems I've never written,
and hands I've never held.
I should blame it on courage but I blame it on you instead.
Maybe I'm just one of those people who
gives everything to one boy, forever.
Maybe he's just my routine,
like in the military.
Bright and early awake then straight to the battle field.
My body is adorned with marbled bruises
and crimson gunshot wounds
and when I rest for the night,
I'm shackled to a mattress of stone,
stained in the thick wine that pulses through my veins,
until the next morning,
when I must do it again.
The sunrise is my enemy.
She tugs at my eyelids
with raw fingernails each new day,
and I still fall asleep with
you as the only thing on my mind.

They say that you can't quit the army.
The cowards way out of a few wounds.
"Stay and it'll be a lifetime of glory".
And that's what he promises me.

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with smoke tainted breath i sit and watch the night pass by
a silent guardian to watch my waking thoughts
the blinking traffic light tick tock ticks my life into pieces
a second hand reminder of the passing time flies
i reminisce on thoughts once alive and
create a late night fantasy in my mind
of life once lived to the fullest extent
only available in dreams brought on by death
the air is chill a cool reminder of the progressing season
where even the earth finds itself locked in throes of ecstasy
at the mere idea of change
the sky, towering sentinels that keep their eyes to the heavens
for any sign that this chaotic life will sink in calm waters
it smells like rain and the smell is sweet
caress my heart with a sense of longing as i create
this poem of cliche meaning
i live to love and love to live with lover in hand and
a night beneath the stars
only spoke about in hushed voices for song would break the spell
if this city wakes
i find myself asking the empty air for answers to these
dilema questions only meant for rhetorical ears
a writers lament
the cry of the mocking bird
syncs with the pass of a car
sweetly soft in a partners sigh
repetitive to most
these lips taste like honey and
my soul is free to wander to home
where you lay sleeping
safe and sound in the sea of mist
that separates the lost from the jealous eyes of unforgiving rest
a movement without meaning draws inspiration
for zen meditation
my coffee is getting cold

I know why it is called
"the small death".
When you lay spent
In my arms
After your heart
Has ceased its wondrous beat
And syncs with my own.
In these moments
While you are purely mine
I would scarcely believe
You were alive
If not for our heartbeats
Entwined.

My heart syncs with the ticking clock
You stepped through, our eyes locked
Eyebrows raised, a signal gave and
all time stopped.

Help!
Call an ambulance!

Thank you for saving my life
For if you haven't called
9-1-1
I would of died.
For I eat too much
processed food!

A muse plays my harp
strings made of veins and thread,
cobblestones line over my body
having bric-a-bracs in the evening,

Rain splashes over shelves
and ego vapourizes like helium,
pyres burn my effigy tonight
stardust shines the bubble
tearing ashes like paper,

Warheads crack my halo from within
setting me up like the haze,
my lip syncs with the beats
dancing my limbs as it heeds away,

Clouds shower blessings upon my head
the chakra opens as if unbolted by wind,
clear conscience reigns inside me
and photos set us apart like fences .

She takes my breath away.
Don’t know if I can
Find the words to say:
My universe syncs up
Perfectly in her presence.
Interwoven, entwined.
Shared conception.
The atavistic mystics have
Prognosticated our destiny
Long before our
Past lives together.
Our kismet is written
On the stones of
Ancient cave walls.
Splashed across the flowing
Fields of desire.
In the depths of the ocean
Where only our love can survive.
Do not portend without knowledge
Of histories past.
A clear understanding
Beckoning my soul to revive.
As my universe begins to slow
And time comes to a whispering stop.
I notice your hand grasping mine,
Fingers interlocked.