My narrow cave is zero colour
a thousand winds that blow over
only blow away kohls yet to see an eye.

The sunrise beams out in the morning's hush
as do the sun basks in the swift uplifting rush.
Ah, only to miss out again like yesterday,
there was a cave it tried to highlight.

Then lost me in the dark found a Moon
heavily tilted yet over a shady turf.
Every star eying upon it knows that
tomorrow again, this will host the sunrise!

Eye on the morning rose
shine and go touch it not!

Leave it for the day.
Make rooms to smell
flowers from the other planets.

A song like King David sang and everyone heard
It’s the sweet song sang in every mother tongue;
A perfumed speech is heard sweeter than nectar
wreaths round each patch of earth as part of a tongue
in all different variations, directions it’s singing!
  
Mathematically comped that rhythmically span
fashion in both or you choose science or arts.
It’s a lyric sang with finest curvy swaying dance
feel the quivers deep down into the atomic level
still the various motions in various directions turn on,  
nowhere near that look drawing a pause!

One half
is one in two.

The other half
is one’s dream
comes true!

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.

When the pain is no more
the mortal world will be gone!

First and foremost, You flourished fullest!
You balanced the masses all surrounding,
Yet are You the finest ever ahead, upon You,
The cast of masses all cascade to the end,
Before glorious, You are seen in full,
And they all re-rise up to You, greater
As yet You remain to be seen!

When You cast time's captivating views,
Upon Your own, on to Your vast heaven;
Beyond even the embodied, paradise dwelling,
The proud soul rise, wrought by You!
Yet Your divine revelations causes them all,
Like Your majestic rhythm, relatively
Innovates them all on the way you come and go!

Given that a body
veils its better soul.
I pondered upon
looking at the beautiful rose
whats more does it withhold?
Its heady fragrance
made me wonder even more!

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.

When the poet's pen
lends on the page
the magic can begins.

Goodness knows
who and what will read
and touch the dream!

The Sun might
turn the light off
for the cool Moon.
And the stars will never
show up in the daylight.
But day or night
in a poet's mind
they shine so bright!

Maybe some years gone by
raising the pyramid golden high.
The inbuilt deep sea of science and arts
in the making run in timeless time.
So why ponder spilling the beans
in one fine moment down the open sky?

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.

Down the blue sky
I must bloom:
The rose on the thorn!

What made Rumi
is not the poetry.
That's media not
the end of the discovery.

The reality, ***!
Can a bard stich
a word on it
where none nothing
can stand still?
Treading on the way
poet Rumi sings.

The singing rain
touch down
on the ground.

The sun swims down
eyes on the river dance
rhyming with the water
the sea is never far.

The light of heaven
keeps hanging low.
Bestows on the dust
some shimmering
rays of gold.
For its wishes
just has one more:
When the rain is done
and the rose is out
sipping in the last drop.
Beneath that it will
step in its best foot
with all the sky blue.

The sun is rolling down
Oops on the halfway
down the sky
it takes a pause.
The run in the water
is never gone.
Off the neigh null
of the last raindrop
flowers a rainbow!

Deep down the core
the giant earth
is caught in a dew!

Let alone the billowy
seven seas give
the stunned earth a push.
The full geometric spread
of the solar world, it can pull!

Yet to catch up with the run
in the water drop in its core!!

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.

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!

Da Vinci code or more
mystique than that
cracking the secret  
only one that popped up
lost the tongue!

The splendiferous rose
in picturesque shape and colour
aren't all its beauty treasure trove.

But how a rose is a rose
the flower by the thorns
next on the lane adjacent
to the utterly opposite heck
the very uneven grotesque!

The celebrity star shows up
hardly anything lurks in
not much to see inside
all that there is is out!

Then there are some
unknown, unseen ones.
For them inside the day
there is also a night.
Therein the Moon roams
wanes and waxes
beneath the silver lined stars.

Then there is a sea too
down at the bottom line
reflecting all crystal clear
the galaxies up high.
Their solemn lullabies
keep them awake all night!

There it goes for a deep dive
nothing can stop the punter
it's the everyday story of our sun!

The show is poetry in motion
even on the black canvas of the night
it remains a live showdown the stars
one that's hardly dark in the dark.

The fireflies fly through
highlighting in silver lines
that could barely shed new light
amid the spectator stars
eye on upon it from the far.

The sea in black in the night
billows with full of ink
only to wish to ink a beauty spot
above its forehead on a shining Moon-dew.

Looking down on it from the stars
the sea in black is bedewed with moonlight.
It’s not that there is no red no purple no colour
it's the garden of every morning's new sun
in bloom in the shady bud of the night.

The spring of all water
of all the rivers
is not the ocean but
a drop of nectar!

Not to mention it’s the spring
of the moon and the sun
and the earth’s elixir!

The sky is eye wide open
so bright a lapis lazuli hue.
The houri fair maid of heaven
colour in every shade of blue,
up to the door, she must have come through.

See the rosy spring's
bumblebees are on their wings.
Ah, the sweet flowing southern breeze
wafts along with the blue bees.
It must have thought,
humming up on a high they go,
but no!  

The sea sitting deep beneath is out and about
jumps to blue sky and slides down from the clouds
sweeping the land dance on the rivers.
By now, the silent land's sleeping beauty must be
wake by the mellifluous water nymphs.
The bottom is still a far cry; the water is cascading,
so are the bumblebees softly descending.
Beneath the open heaven's painting
into the honey spring, the punters take a peep.

The sun is a small paintbrush
every morning it rolls with colour
and paints at my home the first light
exposes it as new as ever!
Not by the Moon nor by the star
but by me my home my planet earth!

The lost mirror sunk down the sea
gone beneath the abyss no eye can see.
That doesn't stop the moon melting
over the water in a waxing spree!

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

Eye on the sun  
up from the blue hill
descending down
waits for none.

Something is better
Not seen in the light?
The sun is on the run.

Maybe it's in the night
I wonder though does
the Moon see what's inside?
Because the black box
the night is yet wrapped
with countless stars!

Shining on the peak
The sun on top of the tree
for how long will it be
keeping the day floating
on the bright side of the quay
will delight the sight of the bee
before it takes its daily dip?
Back into the night will it flee
there it may have left the key!

Keeping a bit private
after the night
the sun goes all out.
Over the painted rose
and through the shady clouds.

East west north and south
at the end of the day always returns
the twilight could never forget  
a lurking little mole
the sun's missing beauty spot!

The ambling twilight goes deep
it isn't all black
a full moon shines on her brow
neither the night is pitch dark
down the mountains of floating stars.

Tomorrow again yet in the broad daylight
the sun will tuck into a throw of twilight
something is still private a black mole in the light.

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.

Have a petal from down the sun,
a lapis lazuli hue of the blue sky
and a breath of fresh air?
All these are in place so on so forth,
now head to the true north!

The truth is
it can't be created.
It can only be found.

The little zero is big magic.
Count on any number in the number set.
Zero can give the heaps the giant leap,
yet no number can square it,
not even the complete set of digits.

Science trailing through the zero and one  
leads the digital age, continues to grow.
What's in a number is in the know,
but what's in a zero?

Now let’s take a trip into the matrix
without the arithmetic pill of the zero orb.
This time let it be with a poetic dose!

Should you not bask in the sun,
dipped only dew-deep,
shimmering in the sea of its deep
shadow in one little drop?
Can you touch a moon
up high, waxing lyrical  
above the billowing ocean?

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

A thorn
sits  close
to the rose.

God what have I done  
if anything at all
so kind of You!
At night I saw the dream
and at the noon
I got ticket to the Moon.

One step up cloud we touch
Rainbow is close let’s go for the sky
Let’s do it now don’t delay
It’s time for a butterfly dance!

Rose is ours with a handful of earth
Tickled pink flower gives a smile.
Banish the morning blues away
down the feet the floor is ours.
It’s all clear written in the stars
Now is the time for a butterfly dance!

Be it in the day or in the night
Bask in the moonlight or in the sun
it’s not snowed under the seven seas
nor is tucked away up on the sky.
Still on the ground, the floor is ours
and it's time for a butterfly dance.

With the green we grow the river we follow
Left, right, east and west every way
it flows, open to all directions on its way
The world is open worldwide!
But what if in the midst is missing an eye?
The show is on with the hidden card
Let’s get it done it’s time for a butterfly dance!

Time is running so quick
I wonder how did it look.
Like the sun at noon
or a veiled beauty
like the Moon?

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!

Today is yours tomorrow
is everyone’s wonder.
Do good today
for a better tomorrow.

Since God promised
no one always a blue sky.
Groom in the shade
of the clouds
to bask in the sun!

Tomorrow we have all
the good reasons to wake.
The earth’s column
down the sky will stay high!
  
The same old first light will break out,
unveiling once more the face of earth.
Log on now it’s present,
don’t let it vanish away!

Many a time rallies of clouds
shroud the blue sky.
There is no need for anyone
then just to turn away.

The stars too illume
the sky with dim lights.
Maybe the chaste moon
then comes out swimming low
in the orb of the night.
So the sun, too, for a while
goes off into the hide.
Only to show up soon and align
above the earth’s column.

Atop a blooming new dawn
with the rose facing the sun
aligning to it’s shining polished line
passes through the present time.
So don’t just let it slip away!

So concentrated solid is the perfect circle
encompasses the ultimate irrational zero space
housing down the orbiting planets a standstill earth.

Ahead of seven seas so fluid is a muslin cloud in the air
spilling down all the moonlight if the moon splits into half
for that beauty spot there would still be a black moon night!
The hidden gem from down the bottom of the earth
splashes a drop of colour and sets the sun on fire!

Ever wonder if the potion in this cup gets down to half
it does but only to get down to a drop of elixir.
Without sipping in living with such a sound melodious
presence up to the other world before dying one could die!

If you make the
greatest discovery
will you give away
her top secret?
Is nature at risk?

Learning to love
the moon in the dark.
Make no mistake no touch!

When I stood
before my mirror
I put my hand down
raised to touch the moon.
Still, I say it's beautiful!

Stars in their abundance
goodness knows
how many thousands
tiptoed over my little alleyway
in the dark but I didn't lose in sleep.
Nor even to the moon
I didn't tell my dream.

Crackling the roaring light of heaven
over the mountain of the dawn
the master painter shows up
with its bursting colour plate.
The deeply contemplating day shines
out of the night, it gets caught  
soaked in overflowing colour.

But I opted for a blank paper
not a colour copy of my dream.
I wrapped my eye in it with my pride.
Now treading blindfolded on your way
and over to you, I give
me, my eye and my dream!

When do you know
you're growing wise?
When you feel
you know far less.