When you walked on me
I was groovy,
I was the rose of the spring:
everyone’s sweetie!

Your little earth down the upside-
down sky was the centrepiece!
Not anymore, I don’t want to be.
O Fathima, don’t go without me,
don’t go to heaven without me!

Without you I melt away,
burning my spine:
you know the reason why.
I passed my song down to you.
Pour it down to river, to the sea,
do as you please,
but don’t leave me.
O Fathima, don’t go without me!

I touched my dream
when you touched me,
I bent with paradise
like a flower bends in the breeze.
You said sway with ease.

(Choir, voices of women:
Every night did the moon flower,
million stars spurred far afar.
We were closer than two hairs)

I let you paint yours on shades of me.
I became you, you became me.
No one is sure where your
grave is no one can see.
O Fathima, don’t go without me!

Came yesterday
ask me not
from where.

Tomorrow be gone
no, don't know where!

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.

Fancy punting
  only on the waxing
     moon slice?

The sun eyes on
   picks the paintbrush
     on the dark side.

There is always
   one more star
      fancies a black mole
         in the low light!

No wonder the rushing sun
    for unseen heaven
        leaves the broad daylight
           always dips in the twilight!

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

There is a dream
Most beautiful of all.
To touch it once for all
longing night burns
down reduces into kohl.
Everyday scurries to this  
swarthy twilight black hole.

I saw a dream
once upon a time.
Don’t know when
but often it seems
as old as time.

Until comes the interpreter
goodness knows
where that’s feet are.
No one was primping
but the meaning shows up
all in all is a mirror.

Oh, when did it all begin?
Now, looking at the mirror
often it makes me wonder,
is there a past or future,
besides an omnipresent like now
truly a full moon picture.

Earth is gold dust
when not found.
But the found one
is only earth!

Looking at the
         satellite picture
                    it looks clear.
                       The earth is a blue
                                  drop of water!

                                    Did the sun paint
                 the shades of this blue dew
            dot years.
       Still, the ****** shines
   in same old
unfading colour!

Little earth is on the radar,
under the starry net.
Take a handful of soil,
only gauging a star’s gait.

Try once more can't do it
without the star above,
keeping a tab on the land,
on every birth and trait.

Look, the blue sky arch
is up until now
an upside-down cup.
The juicy bit, for sure,
is down on the veiled earth!

Every blue patch on the sky keeps an eye,
cherishing clouds dancing, hovering over.
The songs of deep blue ride the heady air,
only to be stunned, all of a sudden,
at the first sight—
sung down on a perfectly placed mural.

The Queen of Sheba tiptoes this way;
King Solomon leans to the ground,
only to find seas of silent blooms
musing, dipping in sun-kissed dews—
on gently tilted roses that will not fall,
not from this picture-perfect, navel-high!

Velvety, the rose rises from the ground;
the forever-green Earth hangs low,
in the dew on the rose that will not fall.

Blossoming, eyeing an acute high,
evermore hopeful to scale upward,
toward the faraway, awaiting heaven's pool.

There, the spotlight does not move—
neither north nor south, nor up nor down—
until Queen Fathima, the Queen of Heaven,
steps on the "as above, so below" *****.

There, the newly resurrected Earth will be primed,
its minted atoms vibrating beyond bounds,
rising, for the first time, atop the navel-high.

Perfectly wrapped, the atom's circle finally turns on—
the stepping stone that holds no pi-decimal hole.
Pure Scientia hangs on the door of Paradise,
awaiting the numerically perfect Queen Fathima to step.

God willing, she will work in beauty:
the most sought-after, perfect works of art—
the lost masterpiece, not in translation,
but hidden within the pi-decimal abyss of Earth's depth.
Lo, the gleaning Sleeping Beauty peeps,
trailing the role model Queen.

Fathima—the first woman to enter Paradise—
walks the walk: perfect, straight, numerically precise.
As if she always knew, back from the Earth,
of the murals ahead, hanging on Paradise’s wall,
mathematically exact!
Mirrors of imagination, new wonders on Heaven’s way,
etched in the murals at the golden section, navel-high.

She zooms past the ever-spinning atom’s perfect span,
cemented at the entrance of Paradise.
Yet leaves no footprint—
for she never did, even on the sublunary Earth.
A new wonder blooms in the classic old eyes:
oh, Pi, still irrational, still pondering,
at the measured, eternal navel-high!

The Eid is bustling with joy
come let’s give it a try
f  
  l
    y
     away!

To the deathless groovy paradise
floating high on the elixir flow:
The triumphant joyous wave
streamed up from the secret bottom line!  
Up above the lapis lazuli sky.

A pair of butterfly basks
in the sunlight
quietly indulges in style.
It goes on in slow motion
illuminating the night a firefly
perches on a slice of the Moon
flanked by the moonlight.

But you and me
we will rhyme and chant
in our lovely mother tongue.
In the same original lingua
like ‘Adam speaks up and all
angels listen in paradise’.
Come let’s give it a try
f
  l
    y
     away!

On the wings of the moonlight
we will
s
  a
    i
      l
       away!

Ambling by the Moon
we'll **** through the starry nooks.
Eyes open and gently perched
atop a star for a moment or two.
We will see miles of galaxies
over the moonlit lakes of the blue
playing cool ravishing lutes!

The spring night is in bloom
and the cute sleeping beauty
wakes up playing the flute!
Musical half lights filling the sky.
Come let’s give it a try
f
  l
    y
     away!

We’ll drink sharaban tahura
the holy wine of paradise
and once for all we will
k
i
  s
    s the death goodbye!

Our story will fill the divine soil
the heaven's flora and fauna
each and everyone will shine on our page
no houri will ever say finito singing our tale!

As Adam did it first stunned the angels
telling the nature of all things in paradise.
We will do that once more without a smirk
this time we will see the loving Creator!

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."

I wanted to reach out to the sky
not to touch any star
just to whisper to the Moon
'How beautiful are you'!

I was still, stunned on the ground  
wandering down the sunrise hill.
In the midst of the morning breeze  
I heard of a whispering
‘The eyes in the sky gaze to the ground’.
So close to me that drew
as if that whispered to me ‘tell me about you’!

It streams down eye to eye
from the unseen but the all seeing.

Far from the Mars far from the Neptune
skipping all the planets hanging in space
only on the cheek of earth, a drop of tear fell.

Every angel in the heavens' shore
has heard of this lore.
It’s timeless long mesmerising beautiful.
Far from the blue yonder sky
hunky dory is delighting to the eyes
the stunner is made to measure.

A tear in the corner of the eye
as if it's diagonally weighed down
with the 360-degree open looking sky.
As close as within a fingertip comes the Moon
still, a sea is ahead forever untouchable!

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.

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?

Pi, at the end of its endless decimals' grandeur,
meets a human being—who holds a mirror!
Until now, the number, knowing only sway,
has been lost in discovery’s polished way.
No more: it begins—on a human—in front of its eye.

Patterns and unique precision, patternless waves,
new math tides soar, pivot at the cosmos' height,
only to bag the ultimate truth:
Fathima—the first spiritual woman—mooned there first!

Fathima steps forward where nature falls behind,
across the dead end, the irrational chasm she strides.
For the cosmos' deep mind, Earth, the ocean is but a drop;
the rope to the top is the lead—the feminine Fathima’s lock!

Raw Fathima moves; in shadow, nature follows,
clustering atoms span between the two,
only to witness her encrypted, secured fashion—
intact, uncharted, yet fully functioning,
in Makkah and Medina, while she lived.

The red fairies at midday’s spot-on,
the black swans arching rainbows in wonder—
marvel how Fathima deduces, straw by straw,
the maestros’ dream of ascension,
potion-polished, taking Ma pauses in liminal crescendos,
between past and future, here and hereafter—a circular duo.
Limning out chiaroscuro in light and shadow—
nothing like it exists, in plain sight or the world in toto!

Rainbows shaded in, sparking out,
the scent of roses in her veiled black hair:
the cosmos anew glinting off her edge,
deeper quintessence than dark matter!

The blueprint, the intelligent pre-design, rests in her elements.
The breakthrough exponent—hidden in her eyes.
Yet beyond the masses’ gaze,
she remains Zahra—light upon the original way.

Truly, only one feminine form has reached across
the other end of the cosmos' endless highway,
zooming past nature’s hidden gems—the irrational Pi,
the complex chasm—a mathematical goldmine.

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

Pi, at the end of its endless decimals' grandeur,
meets a human being—who holds a mirror!
Until now, the number, knowing only sway,
has been lost in discovery’s polished way.
No more: it begins—on a human—in front of its eye.

Patterns and unique precision, patternless waves,
new math tides soar, pivot at the cosmos' height,
only to bag the ultimate truth:
Fathima—the first spiritual woman—mooned there first!

Fathima steps forward where nature falls behind,
across the dead end, the irrational chasm she strides.
For the cosmos' deep mind, Earth, the ocean is but a drop;
the rope to the top is the lead—the feminine Fathima’s lock!

Raw Fathima moves; in shadow, nature follows,
clustering atoms span between the two,
only to witness her encrypted, secured fashion—
intact, uncharted, yet fully functioning,
in Makkah and Medina, while she lived.

The red fairies at midday’s spot-on,
the black swans arching rainbows in wonder—
marvel how Fathima deduces, straw by straw,
the maestros’ dream of ascension,
potion-polished, taking Ma pauses in liminal crescendos,
between past and future, here and hereafter—a circular duo.
Limning out chiaroscuro in light and shadow—
nothing like it exists, in plain sight or the world in toto!

Rainbows shaded in, sparking out,
the scent of roses in her veiled black hair:
the cosmos anew glinting off her edge,
deeper quintessence than dark matter!

The blueprint, the intelligent pre-design, rests in her elements.
The breakthrough exponent—hidden in her eyes.
Yet beyond the masses’ gaze,
she remains Zahra—light upon the original way.

Truly, only one feminine form has reached across
the other end of the cosmos' endless highway,
zooming past nature’s hidden gems—the irrational Pi,
the complex chasm—a mathematical goldmine.

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

She lived safe and sound without showing up even a hair
Donning in the body, are the flesh and bone Earth's own?
She didn't want to take that with a pinch of salt,
Fathima, the first spiritual woman
rather touched down on earth with her own!
Lived in Makkah and Madina a secret wonder
No trained eyes nor born savvy nature could uncover!

The earth, hand on the heart, never did it air,
a name she lovely held close to her chest
The mass didn't know time and again
she approached mathematically but stuck
360 degrees away behind Fathima
lived in rigid encryption!

The earth turned her mighty math most fluid
threw her mammoth weight zeroing in thin and thick
only gently as 0 and 1 rubbing over this encrypted wrap-
happened to be on her own flower bud!

Closer she pressed to propel into an opening code
revealed a solid hub, the Moon shines on her forehead,
it's on her grip but into a deep base she couldn't bottom in.
It's more airy, a pure stack of rhythms, nightingale sings,
blossoming fragrance, melodious whisper through the air
singing birds returns “This way” on every new day,
ever more time and space angle in golden spiral
in this lively one-line circle home, but not yet done
one is myriad more spiral in circle, songs in fragrance
and golden ratio dance in blossoming flower.
So revealing the code a dream never been realised
Living Fathima thus behind her intact veil showed up!

Oh more, the sun too teamed up
raising the candle from the east to the west
Even went to the length in the memory lane,
striving to remember her pristine mirror
that Fathima only once exposed
long before the heaven was born!
But none could draw a sketch of it
not in the dawn cracking fast light
nor in the mid-summer's full moonlight.

The sun went on playing chiaroscuro,
the earth's beans split,
stars leapt out off her wonder bags
on the meadows and beyond the rainbow’s end.
Yet with their enduring painting in light and dark  
let alone connecting the dots they couldn't bag
her footprint even at her death.

A millennium and half has passed masses still wish
spotting her grave is seeing the earth painting the wind.  
Not a firefly nor a butterfly in Medina knew it where
yet a name generation after generation is still a buzz!
Sayeedatun Nessa, the feminine Queen in Paradise,
Fathima shifted the feminine mystique from Earth
enwrapped it back into heaven veiled and intact
the wonder is now paradise’s gold dust!

When the intelligent design was
sizzling and shining in the soul,
and the rest were still in deep mute
yet one was playing the lute!
Paradise saw me, to her I drew
and tweet “So beautiful are you.”

Pronto, the heaven turned around,
as if the first light after the eternal night
hovers on her lips like she then spoke.
Hissed to me, “without prejudice
am I by design the enduring showpiece.
So ask me what's indeed the beauty is.”

Without blowing a horn or waxing lyrical I say:
Didn’t it blur before you, that a magic snap?
The first reflection of the feminine form
on your golden spiral smoothed out water,
because she breathed on it, on the spot.
Up till now did you view this intact mirror?

Only one drop, keeping tight into the core with
a shadow of the reflection within doled out.
Instantly croons in and danced through every
river across your one hundred layers.
You are still painting on, go on take your time!

Even the atom from the bottom of the black hole
reaches out to the water, the feminine did it first.
Peering through the water’s skin she floats
with the utmost high-surfaced designs into mirror.
Only the primo wonder of the all one peerless God
looks on it, there is no veil except the one is her!
The Uncreated Word, fluid beyond, finest mellifluent
coined the creation, only to loop back to itself far greater.
Therein the root the first (pure light) feminine rose,
for good ever after blossoming flower!

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!

A new Prometheus breaks through
with the light not taken from the sun
but from an unknown forgotten one.
Not up from the sky nor from down
the bottom of the ocean, rose from the null!
  
The witty one then shows up
like a candle, flame on the mirror!
Everything around it starts fading
except the flame in front of the mirror.
More and more eyeballs look
on it only to be sure
anything like it was never seen before!
  
By now the world woken up at the first light
perhaps except the one who could tell the truth
what was that looking in the mirror?
Everyone's guess was as good as other's

Jumping in the blue
water lilies reflection
in the pond up in the sky.
Lo, the punter sun peeps into
the rose dew down on earth.
Floating just on a navel-high!

The broad daylight pictures
the heavenly blue smile
painting on its highwater mark.
Million and one primula flower
kissing this elfin column.
Not up in the wild blue yonder
nor down on the ground.
Just on a navel high!

Every corner
every nook is full.
Bouquets of stars
flower over the Moon!

Lo, unleashing every
bit of the inky night
the sleeping beauty
to wake soon!

Go to the nth degree
when everything is full
look for somewhere new!
It's a full circle, full-blown
but a ceaseless moving world
to one more new angle!

Come bask in the summer sun
     let’s slip out fly with the butterflies!
         While white fluffy cloud-swans  
              dip in and rise, surge and fly
                 up the rainbow arc sway away
                    come down the blue harbour
                       ambling along shady lanes
                           cast your glance treat your eyes!

A hiss of the moon tucking
into just a pair of lock
let alone in pavilion-tresses
on the back of one's eternal silence.
Giving autumn shadows
to seven skies' azure.
What now the stars are gone
followed in their countless galore!

Eyes of the buds ope
dreaming nightingale
hops up to the morning rose  
singing in what a balmy fold.

Hold onto the little one.
Don’t spill the raindrop
Let it run, let it run!

The sun in a dew
dancing on the rose
let it roll out
a drop of the deep
on the ground.

Let it roll, let it dance.
Take your plunge
swim down the sea
only to sing high
fly out with the cloud!

Like in the sea
the spin is in a
drop of water.
Makes the heart sway.
Follow the river
to the west, the east
the north and the south.
It goes every way.

At times I heard the songs of the giants
who opted to sing for a glass of wine!

Like Omar Khayyam would sing to the grove of vine,
while singing their lullabies they wouldn’t mind,
defying the bloomer stars in the moonlights
gladly treading on the black alleys of the night.
Didn't they budge, didn't they bend to pick up  
a potion of the sea, billowing in the dark?
But they opted out, just for a glass of wine!

To paint a glimpse of that gorgeous Saqi
till now they shun, lending the sun a paintbrush,
‘cause "if only it was colourful enough,” yet the sun
paints the enduring shades of the blue yonder.
But they turned around—just for a glass of wine!

The moon hanging low over the ocean took a pause.
The earth weighed down so deep is brimful!
Every sunrise paints new, loves to shine on once more
That delved-deep earth vintage taste, cooled in age-old,  
now close by the hands breathe in, full of warm south.
Yet they opted out—just for a glass of wine!

Even the time is speechless, ask me not but why.
Still keeps an ear bent on the wall of the leaning sky.  
Nor those who pop out with an inside scoop are ever drunk.
Nor they leak out, it’s a sea off the sea or Abe-Hayath.
It ain’t that small, it is the deathless spring of elixir!

Kohl black night
forehead is so full.
Countless myriad
stars eye on every angle.
Who knows how many more
look for one more black nook?

Exposing the rose to the stars
I might say for a mirror
look at the sun.
But how can I give the moon
a demo of its fragrance?

Live for freedom
  die without consent!

Care and speak
Respect
Freedom of belief

The free-flying bird
always eyes on the high
looking for a new blue sky.
If only, can it ever own
a little twig on the tree?
On a tree when does it fly
the next mo it sways away!

Rain in the eyes
has been for so long.
Now is a mo
parched Sahara is all in all.

Above the sea
is only the Moon.
The gap in between
is never short.
Nor for the night to sigh
left no teardrop
no more!

Now who dwarfs who
the sea is full
the moon is beautiful?

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!

If happiness is all about gaining
Why on earth the nightingale laments
on the red, red rose blossoming?  

The answer doesn't lurk  
inside the computer's silicon chip.
The man gives mind to technology
it doesn't know how to cry!
But a human mind does whether
that is rich or poor it does a mater.

Have you ever thought why?
If give and take was the
ultimate measure in life
what did we give to be born
to gain the life in the first place?

Give me a clue.
Let me tell you the truth
no I won’t lie
but I don’t want to die.
  
I want to breathe in more  
I wonder how did it all
came to be in the first place
if it altogether can go away
just with a kiss of goodbye?

God is the beauty the eyes crave to see
Full of the heart ravishing qualities
The reason the mind would agree
The one pure purpose to live
The ears love to hear that melody
The perfection sought after for eternity
And the best of the thing is
We are no strangers the reason being
out of His love we came to be!

With intellect alone
can't find God.
God is smarter
try with love!

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!

Someone I know
today he is no more.

Sudden cancer was still
chasing him moments ago.
Can it trace him anymore?

Quality is dear
Heaven is not cheap
Neither is the earth
To be anyone’s for good
Then before losing
One’s hand or foot
Seize the opportunity
Get in gear
Leave good for the better.

Like the first light:
The power candle
Sunrise on the golden high
May fall for for the rose
At first sight
As if the veiled night
Popped rosy on its black mole
But always before long
Back to the night the sun is gone.

Heaven can descend
down to the dust
reaching out
to a good heart.
Even the hell burns
doesn't want
the evil inside.

When the eternal night
once again wraps up the sun
the Moon opens the window
to the forever countless stars!