Far from the light,
you, me, we live inside.
In one's own space
it's a far cry from the sun.

To show up though everyone
needs a slice of the sun.
But except one,
her beauty shines in the dark!

Thing is it's not a thing
is nothing but it cares
is at the heart of all things!

Following the first chirping
of the bird at the crack of dawn.
Floating clouds rendering
with the colour of the wind.
Take a sneak view of the day
at the first sight of the rose.
Believe it or not, the sun does it
every day every morning.
And paints the day, paint yours!
Paint your imagination, do it
as you please, the sky is no limit.

No one is behind, the sunrise
paintbrush is still wet is striving.
New every mo the time is on the move
springs in charting the full-blown spring.
The old rose is still the same beautiful
Happy with all remarks everything
till to date, it minds nothing, nothing!

The sun was so close to
the fingertips of the earth mother
while the rose bloomed so bright
the first morning the sun rose on the earth.
The sun spaced up high up to the blue sky
so the colour of the rose may not wither.

The mother Fathima smiled even brighter
upon the rose, the sun draws back every sunrise
is ever closer till to date a colour never withers!

Sometimes a dark alleyway
is not just a passing passage.
Like a long haul shadow
it stays on down the moon.

Know yourself
nothing is deeper.

Better yourself
nothing is better.

The word
moves the man
the woman.
Moves the world!

The ocean moves
stirring the water.
But none see the sunshine
behind the full moon in bloom
that steals the starry night.