Spring upon the rose
live on the flow.
Be wrapped in the fragrance
touch it not.
Let it be without a form
even in the invisible dark
shows up a moon.
And believe it or not
that all perfect sweet spot
planet paradise could be the next stop.
Like the flower thins out into the fragrance
ah, these finest wings know no bound.
The butterfly paradise slips out is on the fly
wafts into the enduring scent of a paint so bold.
Lo, on its picturesque wings it has all the eyeballs
where does it reach out to no one knows.
It's on the other side of the pool
only the Queen Fathima knows that sweet spot!
No one tolerates any pause is deadly on this route
here death is unknown but none can touch the bottom!
It’s a Mount Sinai scenario no eyeball
can withstand the dazzling beauty enduring long.
Yet it’s immaculately spotless every soul shines out all in all
that shuffles on these secret alleyways of God!
Pans out to the horizontal spread
and feels deep dips into the depth.
Flower in the fire, the sea in a drop of water
Hewn beauty Fathima is the far cry
water nymph amidst the mesmerised burnt-flock.
The resident handsome swan in heaven
on the constantly flowing riverfront
keeping it on its toe!
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!
Zero is enduring
zero is deathless.
Nothing is up to it
none can mirror it
it's an open case.
The eyes are yet to
see an open face!
Because like it's
nothing is in perfect shape
purely a perfect circle!
Nothing matches it
as like Fathima is none else!
Ever more sprawling pi decimals
never go unnoticed propelling
to the end surge before her.
Before the original one
Fathima is yet to be mirrored.
All the planets turn circular
before the unseen perfect circle.
Fathima nails it snapped it up
circled it with her hair!
Before the furthest sighted eyes,
the dot at the earth's centre
at its pool of primitive water.
Fathima embeds in a loop of her hair
thus supercharges the water!
It finds the cut, the golden ratio,
constant continuity in her hair's inner flow.
And the Big Bang happened
there, their breakthrough!
The potential worlds to be
from the first drop of water
she gets them all buzzed out.
From down the rock bottom,
from the zero null
Fathima finds and raises the sun!
Nothing is comparable to it on the ground
nor up on the high, we only see the fire
of a heavenly phenomenon is beyond the sight!
Every atom is lenient towards the human being
streaming up from the deep root they spur
laying down the perfect descending of the stars.
They can take on the stellar in their deep club
that shows up opening the windows up in the sky
and down on to the earth cast their eyes!
The slim fit sharp atom knows all the shortcuts
constantly vibrating not a single star can catch nor will it ever
thin out – it has the extraordinary stroke of luck.
But the eyes are on the humans not over the amber.
Dreaming to be physically absorbed within the human being
to be in the human’s divine proportion ever transcendental
a far cry from the sun and the moon but with it both gel together!
Once they came so close almost touched the dream
they rose to the occasion, squaring the circle,
laser scanning through, as above so below, so humble.
Submitted them without waxing lyrical took the brush off
the colour bowl of the day then blindfolding the moon
in the night reached out to the paragon of the phi mania,
flawlessly made to measure, numerically perfect Fathima!
Presented themselves before her as pure blank
whereon she can jot like her chalkboard
or do as she please like she could show up
taking it as her shadow in silhouette, she exactly did that.
Touched down on the earth, in the veil
and revealed her as above so below.
The ocean moved stirred the water but none saw the sunshine
behind the full moon in bloom that steals the starry night.
Day in day out Fathima did all in a veil she lived and gone.
Keeping the atom on its toe ever honing tracing the footprint
in its own shadow as once a human being without a mark
crept in it lived in pi magic and leaped out!
It’s on everyone's eyeline
where the flying clouds
look down time and again
on this perfectly placed mural.
King Solomon keeps an ear on the ground
the Queen of Sheba tiptoes on this way.
Only to find seas of silent blooms already
musing dipping in sun-kissed dews
on gently tilted roses that won’t drip down
not from this a picture perfect navel-high!
Velvety rose up from the ground
forever green earth is hanging low
in the dew on the rose that won’t fall.
Blossoming, eying on an acute high
evermore hopeful to scale high aspiring
to the faraway awaiting houris’ pool.
They will move neither to the north
nor south nor they go up or down until
Queen Fathima the Queen of Heaven
shows up there on the ‘as above so below’ *****.
There too the newly resurrected earth be primed
to loop into the Golden section at the same height.
Laying the stepping stone on before her
mosaiced to measure on the phi adhered navel-high!
Houri: The Beautiful native woman of paradise.
The Math Behind the Beauty argues that "Leonardo da Vinci's drawings of the human body emphasised its proportion. The ratio of the following distances is the Golden Ratio: (foot to navel) : (navel to head)".
When you walked on me
I was groovy,
I was the rose of the spring:
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!
On the very edge the living earth
dared to replicate Queen Fathima
The Queen of Heaven’s footstep.
That way is the destination de jour
graced by thousands of prophets of God!
In the name of Allah she descended
on the Night of Ascension.
From the Night of Measures unlike the rest
none can enumerate it yet an unnumbered zone
in the perfect geometrised transcended location.
The earth steps in the gap making way for her:
The only asymmetric golden ratio
Slips out to the symmetric prophet flock!
Sequenced in symmetric phi she moves on
in the veil, reveals her unique divine relation,
the front burner for sure is ever closer to God!
So pretty she is the paragon work of art
the sunrise amidst the eternal night.
Her beauty in her shadow is burning fire.
She is 'Zahra' pure light the luminary dynamo
the only one woman had no shadow!
The great women flocked and mirrored the earth.
Treading across every atom on that angle
perfectly aligned down the Moon.
Until those beneath the skin atoms
bang, explode, on approaching the behemoth,
the vibration beneath Fathima’s foot!
The ocean billows up
feels life on the high
floating on the clouds.
Choreographed like a little dew
hanging low on the rose.
Just to drop down on that hot spot
like a cool honey drop.
Even the Moon on the horizon
fancies to sip from this drop.
Ah, the lunar punter is rowing down.
The sleeping beauty wakes up
eyes are on the silver dance.
Eying on every star in the night
the Moon is floating down.
The seven seas sing out in the dark
bubbling with exuberant fireflies
that would gleefully rock the moonlight boat
over to the cup of this pretty little drop.
Poetry in motion is a sea on the ground
the same is known as the Moon in the sky!
The storylines jump ever more
on that way over the shady grove.
Painting the colour of the winds
the sky rains down on that spot
singing the sweetest title song.
Never was a woman prophet of God
to the one primitive woman, the leading lady
'Sayeedatun Nessa' Queen Fathima
heaven is no secret, it is an open mirror!
For her heaven is made an open book
the first batch of houris came to be
tuning into the sounds of her toes.
The earth in its primitive water first moved on
bang, Big Bang, soon she drops in it her hair lock.
She's the hidden gem in the secret end of God!
For the planetary ebb and flow on the way heaven
the planet earth is the only stepping stone.
No matter how many times it tries on
there will still be an unturned stone.
Until the very one woman, the original
the Queen Fathima steps on.
Her presence connects the dots
the nadir and zenith perfectly line up
intersect into one grand perfect circle.
She will close it with the pi once for all
without a gap spilling new decimal.
Putting it all on the map ‘as above, so below’,
all in all, like it's in pure scientia scenario.
Heaven will open its grand door
where the queen will stand on.
No more reverse engineering physically
the original, Fathima will step on,
on the last turned stone.
From the one great woman
paradise starts from here on
from beneath the mother’s foot!
Shining upon the rose,
lovely the sun rises
over the midday sky.
Without a second thought
the brightest one steps up
bends the ear on the ground.
Prophet Muhammad's (PBUH)
wife was waiting.
He was walking his way home.
Maybe or maybe not
one can revive from the
death sleeping at the night.
Hearing the sound
of the homecoming
beloved's foot though
one can't die.
The blessed lady heard
the sound of the foot
and was sure it was his.
This is it, it's the man, it's his!
He is coming home.
The sun is walking on the way.
It will show up
upon the rose in no time.
Ah, only to discover,
it was Fathima walking
She, a woman had
her foot sounds the same as
the man's, the greatest of all!
The very one cannot be copied
because he is the masculine original.
Because from the one
same circle came
the man and the woman.
Maybe with a little gap
spilling infinite pi decimals
new days and new nights.
Still, these are a show of
the one Moon and the one Sun!
The material body was yet in the making
The first and foremost luminary feminine
ebb and flow heartily pans out
flawless flow to the finest angle.
Across the nadir to the zenith
Fathima eyes on upon it like it
shapes and forms are waxing lyrical:
The pure masterpiece without a mirror!
Arts on the go Fathima moves on.
Praise be to the Lord she being made
to measure inborn mathematical the pi is her!
(For the perfect circle the circumference is masculine
The pi tends to circle the blank space within is feminine)
She can budge equally in the shadow
in patternless pi decimals and in the open,
in integer into a whole full number!
Hops up her first step she looks for ‘the all’
the complete whole the absolute one Allah.
Time and again she steps up but finds no floor
Her measured step by default lays on 360-degree circle
Scans all things at the first go still finds no bottom!
The first luminary masculine peace be upon him
first looks in the open she takes the veiled angle.
Through the evermore pi decimal micro-hole
She looks on and witnesses the first water drop
surfaces up without a base without a roof on top!
It follows through truly the copy of the original
softly springing around the serene water paints
of all the maters to be created from this first drop.
Fathima looks at it and veils withdraws her reflection.
It’s still remembered in the sky that follows suit.
First, a star was born stepping in Fathima’s shoe.
It tried so did the full set of the galaxy only to disperse
into a profound constellation never finds a bottom.
Because amidst this water circle floats the first soil.
Allah called it His house that He first created from it.
Every planetary orb pilgrimage around it in the core
known as Ka’abah up to the heart of the earth it rose.
In the pre-designed world after the first masculine
the first feminine Fathima thus did the first pilgrimage.
She walked the walk did so in the patternless pi veil.
Nature is never uneven on the hidden hand of the pi.
Every little fraction, the small decimal does it count
connects to the dot without showing up a pattern
Long live, long live the digital charisma is on the rise!
Retracing time and again the sun rises in the median lane,
yet the black box scores it's only a dark chart at the end of the day!
The Moon is yet to moon over an unturned sublunary-dip
It pulls all, the mighty sea that the earth can't
and sync in the feminine water cycle but save only one
with Fathima floating out of the box it can’t link up!
Like millions, ever wonder where Fathima’s grave is?
The earth strived too to the death bite to print her footprint!
Most of the mass visiting Medina look too see the grave of the holy lady Fathima. It has been a tradition since her death some fourteen hundred years ago. There are two graves where she is buried but which one is her is still unknown. Reportedly she wanted her grave to remain unidentified.
Every star across the seven skies
wishes to kiss it is a gold dust.
Not to mention the Moon in the centre
waning and waxing in the open and in secret
keeps unleashing longing to rub
this non-sublunary piece on its forehead.
She knows only then the rough seas beneath
her will calm down in the soft raining moonlight
rubbing off such a lucky blossomed forehead.
Oh, if only scarcely they could ever see it
the galaxies since their inceptions longing for it.
The bliss of the eyes tucked away from the scene
Paradise lies beneath the mother’s feet!
The mother is fast is for all and is down to earth
She, the mother Fathima descended down
from up above the heaven that pivotal frontier
only all the prophets’ Prophet has seen.
Then was no Adam nor Eve or Jibreel!
Paradise finds its core with its resonant lore
in the shadow of the original feminine Fathima
the immortal hotspot the original matter explored.
Paradise lived and breathe beneath her
but she touched down at the heart of the earth
without stepping or touching on paradise
only to give away her stake to others!
No land she would take on her way back indeed
Not in her name, know where Fathima’s grave is?
When people visit Islamic holy city Medina they look for the grave of the holy lady Fathima. It has been the tradition since her death some fourteen hundred years ago. There are two graves where she is buried but which one is her is still unknown It's been said that she preferred her grave to remain unidentified.