Pi at the end of its endless decimals' grandeur
Meets a human being who holds a mirror!
Up till now, the number, as it knew only sway,
in discovery mode on its most numerically polished way.
No more, it begins on a human, in front of its eye!

Pattern and unique precision, patternless waves,
new math tides soar, pivot at the cosmos' height.
Only to bag the ultimate discovery before it there was one:
Fathima, the first spiritual woman, mooned there at first!

Fathima steps up once nature is a following shadow
over the dead end, the irrational chasm she goes!
Then, for the cosmos' deep mind, Earth, the ocean is a drop,
The rope to the top is the lead feminine Fathima's lock!

Truly, only one feminine form has reached out
to the other end on the cosmos' highway.
Zooming past nature's hidden gems - the irrational pi,
the most complex chasm, yet a mathematical goldmine.

Beyond the masses' eyes and their painted canvases,
shine the daylight and glowing fireflies of the night.
Viva Mankind! Fathima is the Moon on the highest high!
.
The red fairies on the midday's spot on,
the black swans over the rainbows but wonder evermore.
How Fathima deduces, straw by straw,
the maestros' dream ascension.
Potion-polished, taking Ma pauses in liminal crescendo
between the past and future, here and hereafter, a circular duo.
Limning out chiaroscuro in light and shadow -
oh, nothing is like it in plain sight or the world in toto!

Raw Fathima moves in shadow; nature follows,
clustering atoms span in between the two.
Only to witness her secured, encrypted fashion -
intact, uncharted, yet fully functioning
in Makkah and Medina, all the while she was living!

Rainbows shaded in and spark out,
smelling of rose in her veiled black hair:
The cosmos anew glinting off on its edge ever,
deeper quintessence than the dark matter!

The blueprint, intelligent pre-design is in her elements.
The breakthrough exponent is in her eyes.
Yet beyond all the masses' eyes,
she is 'Zahra', the light on the original way.

Truly, only one feminine form has reached out
to the other end on the cosmos' highway.
Zooming past nature's hidden gems - the irrational pi,
the most complex chasm, yet a mathematical goldmine.

Beyond the masses' eyes and their painted canvases,
shine the daylight and glowing fireflies of the night.
Viva Mankind! Fathima is the Moon on the highest high!

Let alone a banyan tree,
A branch is much bigger than me.
I am not big.

The sun seems like a palette of colour.
As I see the big print,
It amazes me even more.
Colour drifts, painting sweet spots,
Shedding hardly any space at all—
Only a hand’s palm size, that’s all,
For its spectacular masterstroke: a rose!

Ah, sleek moonlight, velvety soft,
Unfurls the path to the Taraweeh Mosque.
Countless fireflies, on fine silken wings,
Catch fast in the silver weave of lunar groves.
Soon, the first Ramadan crescent blooms above,
While the silent tuberose lingers, imprinting deeper still.
Oof—how many did I embrace? One or two?
Myriads light the way to the Taraweeh Mosque.

It was only the other night—
The first crescent of Ramadan shimmered,
Piercing the flawless forehead of twilight,
In the hush of the fading dusk.
Even now, across the half-lit horizon,
Sleepless full-moon stars drift,
While the first, blessed crescent of Ramadan
Moves on in seamless procession.

When will the celebration reach its full bloom?
Today marks the fourteenth fast,
Already shining upon the fourteenth moon!

Light upon the light
High atop the high
Let the lucky brow
Paradise shines
May your most beautiful eyes
Cast a glance!

Let it light up  
A candle in front of the mirror.  
Ah, wild glimpses—  
Ultimately nuanced,  
An enduring treasure,  
Eternity in shadow,  
Gently showing up.  

Dear, the buzz is all in bloom.  
Without one, nothing is whole.  
The sun scrolls down in sizzling gold,  
Never derailing, never sliding back,  
Looping into the shrouded night.  
The color is half full, half light,  
Hues reflecting a zillion stars.  

Time moves in discovery,  
Ever burning the midnight oil—  
The humble moon,  
Lingering beneath your midnight-black locks.  
The color, the fire—will it be the first to spot  
Your veiled face, the true morning rose?

Rose or thorn
choice is yours
from me is only
    LOVE.

I Love
not for
what's in store.

Rose or thorn-
it's your choice.

Life is short is small
or maybe not
Purpose is surely not!

Just one fleeting glance at you, yet the timeless Earth,
With the deep red roses, holds its breath in awe of your worth.
Daylight and twilight weave together, lost in your spell,
How could I ever describe your beauty? No words could tell.

Shape my heart as you will, so it mirrors your light,
A reflection of your endless grace, so pure, so bright.
See yourself, just once, through your own lovely eyes,
Just how stunningly beautiful you are—beyond the skies.

No more shall I seek to linger on the silken loop of stars,
Nor will I play at dice in the moonlit, burning woods.
"Let it remain unsung"—the cuckoo’s sweet and lilting refrain;
Lend me but a fleeting shadow to soothe my weary soul.

At dawn’s tender crack, I will wander to the edge of the fading night,
Where the first light spills gently through its shimmering seam.
And though the day may falter, and twilight weep its soft return,
Grant me but a shade beneath the mole of your verdant grove.

The thorns may have cut my hands off  
but not my will.  
It's mine whether to take the rose—  
yes or no!

If, in the golden Bengal,
At the crack of dawn,
The rainbow from beyond the skies
Gently alights upon the wings of a butterfly,
Smiling all the while

Then what shall befall
As the day softly wanes,
In the twilight beneath the veiling horizon,
When evening tenderly embraces the earth?

Wandering all day through the villages of Bengal,
Across the vast wetlands, fields of rice,
From door to door, along the wild paths,
Through shaded groves and verdant forests

Amidst the gaps of flaming Krishnachura trees,
On that very path,
The midday red fairy peeks through with a playful glance.

The dark Mathura clouds paint the sky,  
As the graceful Giriya ducks spread their wings,  
The vermilion-touched woodpeckers tap away

While the sunbirds sing their melodies,  
By the edge of the waterlily lake, beneath the banyan tree,  
A contented farmer's flute releases the joy within every heart.

And none other than the blue fairy  
Leaps out of the monsoon pond,  
Only to descend into the courtyard  
Woven by Bangla Mother's enchanting, tender touch.

So too shall the golden sun descend at twilight,  
With a gentle smile amidst the evening's enchantment.  
At the close of day, it will offer to the moon in pure bliss
Its crimson garland of red water lilies!

Numerically perfect,
a flower is polished science indeed,
with petals that whisper the secrets
of the golden ratio's creed.

But a rose curving out
on the lethal thorns is indeed
no math, no logic!

Red, red rose—  
not for sure  
from this ancient Earth.  
Yet it seems so close  
to the eyes, to the heart;  
then there's the thorn—  
you can't touch!

Not sure what  
the nightingale sang,  
yet a heady fragrance  
seems to whisper:  
"Heart, eyes, hands—  
whatever you feel, say freely;  
mine are yours,  
I wish you could see!"

The same rose, still ablaze scorching red,  
A ****** from realms yet untread,  
That unfolds upon the ancient, earthen bed—  
But heed the thorn; this way one cannot tread.

Every morning the nightingale sings her song,  
Leaps into melody, ere the day grows long.  
Down the moon’s open eye, once strong,  
To unlock the door, one must belong.

In the quietude, beneath the moon’s aged grace,  
Maybe lies a key forged in shadow,
The sun slides down, lights a candle at a silent pace.  
Who claims this boon, who dares to embrace,  
Must know the rose’s fire, the nightingale’s chase.

The same rose, still red hot,  
the ****** from the other world,  
wide open on the ancient Earth—  
mind the thorn, though;  
this way, the door is closed!

Every morn, the nightingale  
hops onto singing before the sun pops.  
In the shadow of the visited moon,  
keying in the door must be someone's boon!

Knows the secret of the universe
but doesn't know the heart
it doesn't tally up!

Hop onto the spacecraft
fly off to the star
technically that can be done
mathematically can be numbered.

But that deep dive deep down
the sea of the soul
only an interpreter of the heart can play this role.
What AI can mimic that or an art can choreograph
or a computer can emulate this part?

Lo, another Ramadan dawn breaks,
millions more feelings of solemnity fill the air.
The time to bid farewell is upon us,
a moment both heavy and sacred.

O blissful Ramadan, brimming with purity and reflection,
when hearts and homes open wide, embracing all.

Prepare to leave, adorned with the beauty of Allah’s bounty:
Your movement like déjà vu moonlight,
your grace as delicate as the finest Muslin.
Let every rose from the garden encircle you,
a garland of farewell.

In the golden hour of dusk,
when Iftar and Suhur beautifully intertwine,
the sweetness of the evening fills the air, nourishing souls.

With a nectar of kindness, bid adieu to every friend of nature
their essence lingers in memory,
sweet as the moments spent in devotion and joy.

'Alvida' - a farewell not of forever
but of waiting until we meet again.
Draw the last stroke of parting on the canvas of the sky,
leaving a promise beneath the rainbow.

Parting with the crescent moon, hearts overflow with hope
O Ramadan, until we welcome you again,
let the essence of your purity and peace remain with us.

Farewell, O holy month
Your parting leaves behind a trail of light,
guiding us until your return.

Live for freedom
  die without consent!

The wind on the flow
to all directions south and north
paints on the lotus blooms on the sea
down the sky in lapis lazuli blue.
My daughter Zubeda Maya
asks me on the go
did you capture this fabulous mo?

Oh, where shall I start to roll
the Red Sea in Hurghada Egypt
puts on thousand and one show!

Came yesterday
ask me not
from where.

Tomorrow be gone
no, don't know where!

The moon hums in a new style
Ah, pretty little beauty spot, opens a slice of sky
On the door of tomorrow in the serene shadow of night
Keeping the ears down, alleyways of stars lie down.
The sea too rolls out high waves of rhymes
Only then will the veiled mystic night  
Opens once a kohl-dark, enigmatic eye
On the door of tomorrow deep down the night.

"چاند ایک نئے انداز میں گنگنائے گا۔"
"Chaand ek naye andaaz mein gungunaega."

"اہ، خوبصورت چھوٹا سا حسین تل، آسمان کا ایک ٹکڑا کھولے گا۔"
"Ah, khoobsurat chhota sa haseen til, aasman ka ek tukda khole ga."

"کل کے دروازے پر، رات کے پرسکون سائے میں۔"
"Kal ke darwaze par, raat ke pursukoon saaye mein."

"کان نیچے رکھتے ہوئے، ستاروں کی گلیاں بھی جھکتی ہیں۔"
"Kaan neeche rakhte hue, sitaron ki galiyan bhi jhukti hain."

"سمندر بھی اونچی قافیوں کی لہریں بہا دیتا ہے۔"
"Samandar bhi oonchi qafiyon ki lehren baha deta hai."

"تب ہی پردہ دار روحانی رات ایک بار اپنی کاجل سیاہ، پراسرار آنکھ کھولتی ہے!"
"Tab hi pardah daar rohani raat ek baar apni kajal siyah, purasrar aankh kholti hai!"

کل کے دروازے پر رات کے گہرائیوں میں
"Kal ke darwaze par raat ke gehraaiyon mein"

سينشد القمر بأسلوب فريد.
آه، دائرة جمال صغيرة تفتح قطعة من السماء.
في ظل الليل الساكن، على باب الغد.
بإمالة الأذن، تميل ممرات النجوم كذلك.
ويطلق البحر أمواجًا عالية من القوافي.
فقط حينها، تفتح الليلة الغامضة عينها السوداء كالكُحْل، الغامضة لمرة واحدة
على باب الغد في أعماق الليل

Rays of light reach the high watermark,
The sun lovely bathes in the morning dew,
On a rose cradled within someone's thumb,
And in a tear streaming from someone's eyes!"

I looked straight
into the mirror.
Do I have nothing to hide,
or is there something hidden now?
I can't see my open mind.

Little chip
bottomless dip
but is it?

Does nature has
a hole or a slit?

Tap in logic
it's ******!

For instance dig in
mathematically instill
a finer silicon chip
but where is the slit?
It springs
digital and now AI magic.

I am in the blink
of your eyes,
Not in the mirror!

I replied, "I wish
I never do that,
Looking in your mirror!"

Once again, she said,
"Never mind,
Mind your eyes,
For a mind
Never shows in the mirror."

So beautiful
now can't touch
no more.

Maybe just maybe
after the clouds
spread their black throw
up to the horizon.

And the deep singing sea
beneath it showers down
upon the beautiful rose.

The scene is all a bright show
yet mystified even more.
The finishing line is drawn
in a ring of rainbow.

You may be strolling
along a muddy path
yet the birds sing
atop the Eden's tower
deep down you're a wonder!

When I pick up my pen
        She comes first.
When I land on the dust
         I am a stranger!

Summer is loading full
             just one bit more
                     London is On!

Busy bus only 20 miles
           per hour
      tube  it
take the underground!

Meet down the various clouds
               though the sun oft
     picks on the gray paintbrush
the bumble bees fly on bright path
       daffodils are yellow
                   eyes are black and white.

The colour plate is full
                     down the cloud
                          go by underground!

Just the least
      just a pinch
               is magic
stirs the seven seas!

Your pretty little
          beauty spot
            is big indeed!
Piques the waxing moon
            revealing new skin.
Ah therein the day
           at the end of the day
dips into the depth of the blue
            never sleeps
roams in starry dreams!

Neither Earth or sky
               is deep or high.
The first light drops
                upon the rose.
The secret is secret no more
              sings the nightingale
interpreting the dream
          down the whole lit up sky
yet a twilight comes on the way.

Just a glance of you
wraps the entire show away,
towards depths so profound
and heights so high
yet unseen by any eye!

Today is my birthday
my family enjoys a matter of joy.
For this day my mother added
one more new boost
in the fold of time
or one more leaf falls
at the end in the autumn
or indeed on more nightingale
it’s for time to unfold!

I for one a date of birth
still not in the know
makes me pondering
when my mind was born!

If only it were
like a strand of your hair,
like a glimpse of you
in your mirror!

Just like a one perfect sway
into the all-encompassing curve
of the ever-smooth, perfect circle
captures the ultimate decimal of pi!

Never shows the hand
but gives a rose.
Leaves up to you
with your views
with your thoughts!

To live, one must die,
love takes a giving heart
a never fading Taj Mahal
an art of a beautiful mind!

The moon amidst
the celebrations of stars
still in its proverbial stance
only the eye no fingers!

If there ever a moment of flower
let it be today the rose
in the tips of the fingers!

Pure beauty
Atop hills of thorns
A rose
Full stop.

O God
this living minute
is enough to thank
it's a present
not death!

A small world
full of human.
Yet it's a big one
full of victims
of loneliness.

As big as heaven
              size ways.
But to preserve
      it took no space
did it in a few words.
          So tiny that was
didn't notice how or where                      
       I lost my password
now the giant heaven
       I can't see nowhere!

Painted it in the deep
dark night.
Still, it's the moon
of zillions of stars!

The side the flipside
and the bridge.
The day the night
and the bond
the humbly wane
half-moon!

Maybe just maybe
that a split-second mo
is far no more.

Finally, the moon into the sea
takes the jump for sure
only to see abyss water is no more.

Capturing the moments of stories
woven in billows and waves
all a jiffy in a split second is gone
but a drop of tear at the bottom.

A man maybe
a giant.
Maybe a joy
or pain.
Truth is
a tear!

Love
is only logic
in love.

Then the arch painter,
up in the blue yonder,
stirs the sea of colours,
and posing in style,
infuses the magic with
tangerine daylight.

Then I don't know
if you were walking
by a brook or a river,
you would tune in,
perhaps like the sweet singer,
Hebrew King David,
the water nymph hums a melody.

Then the narrative resonates,
it never just goes away like the wind.
Birds chirp and sing
in the groves and on every street.

Then I was watching the BBC
on a black and white screen,
the beloved monarch had passed away,
and Britain was mourning.

Then she appeared
once in a stolen exhibition
by my poetry in motion
and jolly happy she was admiring
now she's gone I just dreamed.

Then amidst the melancholy,
I heard twittering birds chirping,
missing the mellifluous melodies,
so awesomely sweet,
alas, Queen Elizabeth wasn't there
to speak her English!

Crack some fire
everywhere
on the way heaven.
Light the shadow
light a candle
down the moon.

The sun in fact
does it every day.
Scurries towards
the last dark room
down the moon.

With the colour plate
intact and full
passes by shining on
every corner and nook
every untouched end in the day
the rainbows peep on the way.

Sneaks its way through
the deep forests of orbs
up and down the passages
in the mountains of stars
even after nightingales
and robins go deep silent
the sun tiptoes on the go
lights a candle on the moon.

Moments after the sunset
facing its true north in the West
only to find in heaven
the way The Queen of Heaven
puts her footprint less step
it's the sun's true West
shows up the new crescent.

Who said that
watch the moon
but can't touch?

Truly a full moon picture
broke the mirror.
Stacking all of it
the sky fills the full jar.
Empties it though
sparing a piece
to every shining star.

Yet a full moon Kohinoor
eyes on all the stars
no one can touch!

A drop of snow on the face of the sun
a stone throw from the rainbow
fondly close over the tulip colour stroke
next to the Snow White's looking mirror?

What a sniff it gotten on the way?
Turquoise butterfly is on the fly
up on the top floor is lapis lazuli sky.
Did it not only deduce the hunger pang
time is on the run took the breath away
even forgot the death maybe an inch away!