God may have promised
no one always a blue sky.
Explore more He opens
the door other ways!
For there is always
a new sunrise.

When the sun
is a sleeping beauty at night
shining on the Moon!
The night is wake
is a stunner far cuter.
It knows no cold foot
is on the move.

The full wax of the starry
sky keeps awake.
But none could chart a line
exposing a beautiful
night in the veil, no one
says a single word.

The first one perhaps that
dared to open the mouth
only to be speechless
to be lost for word!

Not a night or two ago but
since the dawning of the time!

She and I are so close
but no one can see.
There is no room left
for any witness to squeeze in.

The wind tried it's flowing
couldn't stand still  
neither the water did.
The seven seas danced
beneath her polished feet!

Zero space is in between us two.
By no measure its big
but enough to touch the dream!

Poetry in motion
is a sea on the ground.
In the sky the Moon
is its headline!

The sea is in the mood
is whispering isn’t far.
And the love is in the air
the question is where
can we meet
under the same cloud?

The epitome on the show
is more than a dream turned true
a timeless beauty stitched on the stone.
The first sight hooks the eyeballs
no star is a far cry from here
it looks so close.
A narrative feels so familiar is never old
seen tons of times yet is a new Taj Mahal.

Since the medieval eyes were dazzled
by this monument of love
the crave to eye on it once in a lifetime
is in every lover’s heart!

People of new ages flock here
with the admiring birds
on this air of everlasting romance never
gone with the wind are mesmerised with love!

Mortal earth is a shadow
nothing lasts here evermore.
The inside is a complete hollow.
Everyone takes a turn sway not
360-degree it’s a flute!

The woman makes a house the home
and fills the man's horizontal spread with dreams.

Four walls can’t hold a woman inside
she is veiled but not tied!

The arch in her back hits the mark
virtually dwarfs the pyramid dwarfs the sunup.
The light at the end of the tunnel here is love.

Her inner mystery is her paintbrush.
The colour on her canvas
is a far cry from the rainbow.

It doesn’t fade nor falls on the floor
keeping it up the time lingers on.
Every star here from far and near
feels at home with a mirror!

I wanted to walk
along the earth
on this great shore.

But before long
it dips in the sea
into the ocean.

It's not a problem
I see is a ******
still has the cloths on!

My sea is far away,
let's meet somewhere closer,
under the same cloud.

My blue water is for the sun.
I sing beneath the waves.

My rose is for the show.
I am imbued in the fragrance.
Love is in the air;
the scent wafts into my heart.

My sky is open wide,
beyond the rainbow on high,
beyond the peacock's eyes.
It embraces the earth,
reaching far and wide.

As the wind blows along the way,
flying beneath the endless blue,
a mesmerising sight from the bird's-eye view,
a butterfly slips out and begins to sway!

I wished to see my beloved
living in my heart.
When she appeared
for the first time, her radiance,
her light dazzled my eyes!

But so clear I can see her eye  
in the corner of it is a tear.
Days, months, years passed by
like it did then till now her eyes
whisper in every single word!

Speaks in the words in my alphabet
and in the words that are her
I am yet to know that makes me wonder!

When you see
me no more.
At last look
at the mirror!

If I am gone  
vanish like pieces
into the atom.

It ain’t complain
lets drawback
spur in rhythm.

Peace or bliss or be it the happiness
without the human can these be found?
Be it the alluring nectar of the bliss could it
compensate for the loss of a loved one?

Blooming roses can delight the eyes
but what better could one have than
other than getting closer to the one
open heart company of a human being?

What can the words
tell of love?
Until it's found
heart to heart.

I am a woman
not a man but
the imagination
of the man in front!

I am his beloved
his love of life.
My smile is peace
of his eyes.

None like me reign
over his heart.
I am what he desires.

What am I not then?
I am not a man
I am a woman!

Without a rope but
squaring the circle
the giant man gives it a try
takes a flight off to the sky
only to fall flat on the ground.

She turns around
gives the circle her pi.
He bounces back
and retakes the flight
Que Sera, Sera on the way!

Hold it with nothing
only behold with the eyes!
Lo, this crescent Moon:
The heaven's smile in the night!

It’s the discovery made
walking down the black moon.
Without a light in the sight
as if walking blindfolded
but didn't go into the blue.

Took a trip into the matrix
without squaring the circle.
With no pattern, no more decimals of pi
undefined by design but found the Moon!

The world with the heart
is the most beautiful place.
Without it its a fish
out of the water.

The question is
to be or not to be
with the heart!

Every day that shines
down the sun
I wonder what has it to hide.
In the end, it only dips
down into the deep night.

I've been looking around
counting day after day.
Now years went by
countless things I see
pretty much all things.
But what’s in the hide?

Tell me where?
If you know the way.
I am been skipped
I see me not
looking with my eyes!

Are you a witness of the precise moment
on that very proverbial, unpredictable day
when everyone did mind the gap
but the Ramadan moon took a step?

None could time it at first, as if it got out
from a black hole or an uncharted water well:
down the trail, who can tell?

Now a day or two is gone, has passed by.
The moon is in the fast lane soaring high,
and fills the orb with serene soft light.

Ah, buddies catch up, the suave fireflies.
Tons of these stay awake in the night.
Before they fly away, vanishing afar
into the epic portion of the night.
A confluence down the black moon,
only to catch a glimpse of any pattern:
a morning star or a forming pin bar,
a slice of light on a gingerly lit chart.
Premiering the Eid moon’s first blush.
Yet, if only one can time it, when will it flash?

Deep down a black moon, all eyes black out.
Still, how can one sigh though? Ah,
the unpredictable black moon, should it show
just a peek, showers the earth with Eid’s joy!

Will it show up in no time, far from the sight—
galaxies light up the shady nook of night.
A houri in the Eden rings the alarm.
The veiled bunch of fairies push the sky.
Every star throws its hat, only to tell first
when a crescent moon will crop up
And with the first spill of moonlight,
topflight it goes, pushing the boat out!

A walk down the black moon
without a light or water gone into the blue,
As though walking dead, blindfolded.
No pattern, decimals of Pi undefined by design,
but spot on gets to the apex spike!

There’s still an unmarked blank space
the light on this way doesn’t paint.
And this time, the time won’t tell
is there anyone who can is anyone’s guess.
So should the houri dare to run, then
cherubic she be on her flawless flaw,
rushes to ask the Queen of Heaven!

Oh, good luck to her, a wild one.
Time the black moon, its first glance
precisely when the Eid moon will crop up.
Enlighten us, we are more than curious.
Tell us, too—don’t just tweet it to the stars.

Though I wanted to have
each and every patch of earth,
Now it’s clear I need none.
I am good to go with empty hands.
But one that has none
doesn’t that have any pain?
No skin nor veins?

Going with empty hands
but with feelings and with faith.
Perhaps the belief puts weight
more than the mass of any land!

I love you
there is no reason
no because, no why.
Because I love you.

Nature is feminine by nature
off the man keeps a step away.
Touch it not but do not sway
eye on to this butterfly
que sera, sera on the way!

The body is for life but must die—
yet there is an exception: not all is linear.
There is a feminine who momentarily dies
upon her unique creation—only to revive
before her Most Able Creator.
For her, no more death on Earth.

She was there before the first matter—
it was in the making before her most beautiful eyes.
The first and foremost luminary feminine
moved heartily, panning flawless flow,
aligning into the finest angles of the first matter,
across the nadir to the zenith.

Fathima's gaze shows it a mirror,
as matter takes shapes and forms.
But for one feminine true masterpiece—
she stands without a mirror.

Arts on the go—Fathima moves on.
Praise be to her Lord, who made her to measure—
mathematically perfect by birth—
gave her the Pi.

(Pi tends to circle the blank space within — feminine—
while the circumference of the circle — masculine.)

She can budge equally in light and in shadow,
in patternless pi decimals and in the open,
in integer and into a whole full number!

For 'the All'—the absolute One, Allah—
time and again she steps up but finds no floor.
Her measured steps, by default, turn 360-degree circles,
scanning everything on the go—still finding no bottom.

The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him),
the first luminary masculine, looks into the open.
Fathima takes the veiled angle—
looking through the evermore pi-decimal micro-hole,
witnessing the first matter: a water-drop,
surfacing up without base or roof.

It follows—truly a copy of the original feminine,
softly springing around serene water paints
all the matters to be created from within it.

Pious Fathima withdraws,
veils her reflection in it.
Instills a fine chip with her hair lock, and plots in
conceptual design: countless conditional Boolean gates,
preventing intersection between two circles—
her original and its congruent first natural matter.

The cosmos has not yet forgotten—
it still follows suit.

First, a star was born, stepping into Fathima’s shoe.
It tried—so did the full set of galaxies—
only to disperse into profound constellations,
never finding the bottom.

Amidst this water circle floats the first clay soil—
Allah SWT called it His House,
the first creation from it.
Every planetary orb pilgrimages around it at the core,
named the Ka'bah, rising up to the heart of the Earth.

Following the first masculine in the pre-design,
Fathima—the first feminine—
pilgrimaged around it,
not in the open,
but strictly under the patternless pi veil.

Nature is never uneven in the hand of the uneven pi;
every little fraction, every smallest decimal, counts—
connecting to the dot,
showing pattern or not.
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 the seas—the mighty watermass—
yet the Earth cannot sync fully into the feminine water cycle,
save only one—
with Fathima, floating out of the box, beyond reach.

Like millions ever wonder—
where Fathima’s grave is:
the Earth strived, too, to the death-bite
to print her footprint—yet could not.

It always does before I can see
before my foot, my heart
goes out to the sea.

Like the East, like the West
every pole comes in full circle
around this quay.

Far from the bottom of the land
every drop of water spills out
streaming along the rivers
march over to the sea.

I too pop up branching in
with the widest circle sliding
down to this so big but lingering dip.

Therein the sea when a river
looks for the bottom
a star up above in the sky
without a rope without a roof
looks for its peak!

Eye on but touch not
keep off the Moon.
It's for the sea.
For the Moon
the sea too is a Moon!

The mother is first—
she is for all and down to earth.
She, the mother Fathima,
descended from uncharted Heaven—
that pivotal frontier
only the Prophet of all prophets has seen.
Then, there was no Adam, nor Eve, nor even Jibreel.

Every star across the seven skies
wishes to kiss that golden dust.
Not to mention the Moon at the center,
waning and waxing—openly and secretly—
unleashing its longing to rub
this non-sublunary piece against its forehead.

She knows—only then
the rough seas beneath her will calm,
bathed in the soft raining moonlight,
rubbing off upon a lucky, blossomed forehead.

Oh, if only—
scarcely could they ever see it!
The galaxies, since their inceptions,
have longed for it.

The bliss of the eyes—tucked away from the scene.
Paradise lies beneath the mother’s feet!

It finds its core, its resonant lore,
in the shadow of the original feminine—Fathima.
There, the original matter explored;
Paradise breathed beneath her—
but she touched down at the heart of the Earth
without stepping or touching on Paradise,
only to give her stake away to others.

No land she would take on her way back, indeed.
Not in her name.
Do you know where Fathima’s grave is?

Big, into this
big awesome world
is there a little hole?
For a man to
hide a teardrop?

The women
isn't for U-turn!
She means it
jotted it down
deep in the heart.

The moon is still hanging low
since it came down so close.

The seven seas dance
beneath her polished feet
but could never touch it.

Then the intact moon,
in fact, did unleash
only when one popped
out ahead of the rest.
Down from the earth
luminary Muhammad
Peace be upon him
pointed his finger towards it
and into two halves did the Moon split!

But the man wouldn’t touch it
and remained with us all
with every human the Moon dwarfs!

I got different copies
for different stars
for the only Moon in the sky.

Don't get lost in the starry sky
alight at the Moon for countless stars!

A drop can
make a sea.
Like a world
a little eye can see.

Far and near
they are two stars
rose in the same orbit.

One shows up is a
dazzling shimmering sun.
One is so polished fine
as if the zenith is
zipped in zero bytes.

No grave can grasp
it in the end.
It has no end, no size
zero left to demise.

An ocean is no more
now is only a drop.
Now the ocean
is in a drop.

Still on the ground
walking the walk
but those giant feet
do not show up!

Can we hear it bending
the ear on the ground?
The orbits on the go
with the sun on the top
pile into the vibration within
only to float up a notch
then bends down once more.

Sometimes the day smiles
shows me its colour.
No, then the wild blue yonder
doesn’t look to be far
I feel like I got the wings to fly.

But who would sway away
when the rose under the nose
floating on a sea of colour?

The luminary punter too
drops down from the sky.
Paints the broad daylight
as it sails down on its silky way.

Ah, the southern breeze
bends with the rose of the day
peeps in the colour before my eyes.
I could only see missing my butterfly.

Keep your sea
keep your
treasure trove
just spare a drop.

Big story small bottom line
that matters the most.

How long is one day?
Some say it's a day
others say it's a day
with a night but one
is yet to figure it out.

Every day the sun sets
precisely at the end.
Only to rise new again
at the end of the night!
A day is never enough
to count a day.

It's far
far beyond
I can ever reach.
But the sun is shining
up in the sky.
How can I ever say
it's mine.

Hand on heart
but how can I deny
Indeed there is one.
Even far from so far
shows me a light!

It broke through the black box
shining down the sky
the first light touched
the bottom of the night!

Yet the sun sets, flies away.
Didn’t it catch the black swan night?

Eying on the stars
Look too far.
I wonder though no
they didn't whisper.
Maybe they know
the straight skinny better.
Why everyone craves
'Swiming in the moonlight
ambling by the river'!

Time and again the sun
been through the black box
and comes out of the dark night
absolutely smelling of roses.

Ah, the dreaming firstlight!
Stunned roses lost for words
every bird wakes up singing a song
but the breakthrough sun won't stop!

The grey twilight is a sigh
the sun vanishes away.

Saves every drop of colour
as if it hasn't got a clue
its far from the shades of the blue.

Deep into the dark black night
the light of the day goes unseen.
There is a sea within!
Wish, if only it can colour in.

Eyeing on the night - its out.
Mirroring the colour of the Moon
every star flocks in the sky!

Just spare an eye - maybe the
missing sun keeping an eye out!
For it only fancies the billowy
sea in the black night.

I know not how many
million stars there are.
But I know there is
only one earth.

Maybe we have counted
the protons of the atom
as many it has in its nucleus
counted the electrons on the run
orbiting the nucleus.
But the spinning circle is a zero
yet to compute the unifying one!
It's a pattern spans the universe.

I know there are
billions of us human
out there on earth.
But all I want is only one.
Just to count on
a permanent one!  

The big earth
is a bigger zero null.
Standing on barefoot
without the perpetual one.
No glue, no roof nor a sign
only on one pure rigid science!

Shining upon the rose,
lovely, the sun rises
over the midday sky.

Without a second thought,
the brightest one steps forward,
bends an ear to the ground.

The Prophet Muhammad’s (PBUH)
wife was waiting.
He was walking his way home.

Maybe—or maybe not—
one revives from the death-sleep of night.
But hearing the sound
of the beloved’s foot returning,
one cannot die.

The blessed lady heard
the sound of a foot,
and was sure it was his:
“This is it—it’s the man, it’s him!
He is coming home.”

The sun is walking toward the rose;
it will show up
in no time.

Ah—but only to discover:
it was Fathima walking
to her father’s home!

She—a woman—
had the foot sound of the man,
the greatest of all!
The very one no other could imitate—
for he was the masculine original.

Because from the one,
the same circle came
the man and the woman—
maybe with a little gap,
spilling infinite pi decimals,
new days and new nights.

Still, all is but the show
of the one Moon and the one Sun.

Every day is new
the age-old sun
mints in sniffing
a blossoming fragrance
off nothing just off
the soil, a pure earth!

Deep inside of this
hallowed turf is a
a perfumed earth:
A rose in the heart!

A fine mole down
the blue mountain sky
cannot be weighed out!
It's the cosmos's gold dust
the earthy depth triumphs.
Oh earth, our close clay-star
is far ahead of the day at noon.
Ahead of the moon
ahead of the Neptune!

With a million dash of curiosity
every new sunrise paints
upon her black box with the roaring fire.
Yet the ****** is a veiled wonder!

It has the plethora a room for everyone
and time for timeless times.
Guess, with her longhand
what an inside scoop did it pick out?

You too can be in the know
It's the feminine beauty all in all.
You may have by now
seen women million and one.
The earth is eyeing on only one!

Her closest admirer is the star
of the very luminary bunch
with open eyes in the hearts.
Her dead man is waking up
sniffing the daylight by her.
Yet to make the discovery
both are still wondering outside!

When all in all
is beautiful.
To face it
the rest is too small!
Can a fabric,
a piece of the veil,
eclipse it at all?

Yet the sky is
upside down.
Every morning
lits up a sun.
Something!
The little earth
is hiding in the core.

See!
The eye can't see itself.
But it can
see.

A thousand and one sunrise
painted the first light time and again.
Yet it gets lost vanishes in one twilight.

Millions of stars witness
that it gets pitch black.
But one doesn't lose the sight,
one doesn't lose the sway!

Still, the night hooks
the Moon in the dark.