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Druga is illusion
A symbol or a membrane
A discus to be thrown
To observe the arc in sunshine.

She is not the ball
To be shotput through
She is not the goal
But a passage by the soul.

Sit, spread
Your arms wide as rainbow.
Wife, you have forgotten
The son is not your daughter.
What do thou focus on?

See also https://hellopoetry.com/poem/3353827/devi-2019/
Chicken  Feb 22
Little Weed
Chicken Feb 22
Little ****
I'll pull you up
to my face
and
eat you.

Make you into
something else
It's painful
but
you knew.

Every atom
Every speck
transforms time
and
time again.

If air is the chorus
then you
are the choir
singing
despite pain.
Everything has a sound, a frequency, no matter what state it is in.

We live in an endless structure of sound, of song, the multitude of the verses.

Why do you like music so much?
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2018
The material body was yet in the making
The first and foremost luminary feminine
ebb and flow heartily pans out
flawless flow to the finest angle.
Across the nadir to the zenith
Fathima eyes on upon it like it
shapes and forms are waxing lyrical:
The pure masterpiece without a mirror!

Arts on the go Fathima moves on.
Praise be to the Lord she being made
to measure inborn mathematical the pi is her!
(For the perfect circle the circumference is masculine
The pi tends to circle the blank space within is feminine)
She can budge equally in the shadow
in patternless pi decimals and in the open,
in integer 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 circle
Scans all things 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 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.

It’s still remembered in the sky 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 a bottom.
Because 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
known as Ka’abah up to the heart of the earth it rose.

In the pre-designed world after the first masculine
the first feminine Fathima thus did the first pilgrimage.
She walked the walk did so in the patternless pi veil.

Nature is never uneven on the hidden hand of the pi.
Every little fraction, the small decimal does it count
connects to the dot without showing up a pattern
Long live, long live the digital charisma is on the rise!

Retracing time and again the sun rises in the median lane,
yet the black box scores it's only a dark chart at the end of the day!
The Moon is yet to moon over an unturned sublunary-dip
It pulls all, the mighty sea that the earth can't
and sync in 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!
Most of the mass visiting Medina look too see the grave of the holy lady Fathima. It has been a tradition since her death some fourteen hundred years ago. There are two graves where she is buried but which one is her is still unknown. Reportedly she wanted her grave to remain unidentified.
CA Guilfoyle Nov 2014
Along this pilgrimage made
with candles lit by the sun, a holy desert communion
seeking connection to the one, here in this fiery church
I have found lost souls, sun bleached bones
they drink the moon and sun
saguaros wander to and fro
all are parched none are full
cactus leaning, I am kneeling
here at this earthly altar
awaiting resurrection
I have come to pray
watching nights and days
these veils burn away.
Jordan Rowan Nov 2015
I don't want to be another guy who writes love sick poems about the girl he loves
Why can't I just be?
Why can't I just think?
They become the same old song
The same old line after line
With broken-hearted solemnity overshadowed by immaturity

I will now become a man that no longer waits in the dark for someone to bring me a light
I will make my own light
I will make my own breaks
I will fight for what I want
I will live with how it ends
Or I will smile when it lasts

I will face what I want and I will let it be known how I feel without ambiguity or veils
I will face my fears
And I will forget they exist
If love ends forever
Then forever is not for me
Today I am a man, naked and known
patty m Oct 2014
My Mother, Salome taught me
to bend, undulate and flatten in the breeze.
to shed the veils of morning mist,

We sway in unison
gentle waves that sigh and whisper
Mesmeric day dreams,
wisps of nature's magic,
we become what you want us to be;

a golden cloud , gentle maidens weaving,
or by moonlight's spill,
a quicksilver sea.

Hot winds carry seed,
the sweat of fevered brows.
travelers on the prairie
heed our siren songs,
as we beckon to them;

hush, hush,
come to us, come to us.

Some find their way home,
others are lost forever.
Yet, they'll never forget,
wild windswept waves
of a land locked sea,
the sound of siren voices in the wind,
or the hypnotic dance and gentle caress
that will leave them forever yearning
for one more kiss from the
women of the grass.

hush, hush
come to us
come to us
startle cracks
and curtain calls
my eyelids back

diaphanous dropped
and veils up
dewy bloom spotlit

monkeysuit chauffeur
denigrated daily
scratch behind his ears
you're doing OK
just mistook
vehicle for passenger

relax in seat back
let clear and present ever
steer biospheric lit

allow etheric hum
up the bony ladder
to outlook attic
bindi blinds lift

pretty *******'
46-bit binoculars
these holy puppet
hands have got
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