#muhammad
The tears I shed for you, all one by one,
Are more precious than moon or sun.
I hope they come alive at Judgment Day,
So they will intercede, before it's done.
Dec 25, 2021
Dec 25, 2021 at 12:30 PM UTC
O the One brighter than the brightest star!
O the One who talked to the moon above!
O the One whose presence bloomed all the flowers!
O the Beaut One!
O the Belovently Beloved One!
O, Mustafa!
You are the source of sparkle for our illuminating universe.
Your luminosity left the shimmering sea overjoyed.
Your benignity softened the hearts of hard-hearted.
Your nobility had left me breathless.
For how can I describe the indescribable?
Apr 8, 2021
Apr 8, 2021 at 6:09 AM UTC
Reading math shall become as easy as reading spoken language.
To question comprehension is only natural until higher degrees of practice are obtained.
That's why I have dictionaries and thesauruses for spoken tongue, and why I have textbooks and the Internet for maths.
Mar 29, 2021
Mar 29, 2021 at 1:40 AM UTC
Ear worms during zen prove that left to nothing, popular culture will take my attention.
So let them create their music: an evil in the Hadiths of Islam, and a degradation in the Pali Canon.
Music's flames burn away the veins and stupify the mind.
The heart is replaced with straw and the liver is poisoned.
Baha'u'llah said music is lawful as long as it uplifts the spirit.
But I say:
It eats the organs, toxifies the blood.
It makes me forgetful of liberation.
Its words are idols against the Path.
It masks the senses.
It trivializes reason.
It points the disposition into darkness upon darkness.
It deafens the ears.
It lightens the body.
It stammers the sense of smell.
It invades attention and enslaves the mind.
It dries the throat.
It displaces the sense of location.
Feb 6, 2021
Feb 6, 2021 at 2:42 AM UTC
Eternity is right now
In this moment
Eternal life belongs to those
who live in the present
Profoundly we forget
Limiting our’s or other’s
Power of equality
Obviously
The power of quality
Isn’t what it ought to be
If you think you’re powerless
Or crazier yet
More powerful than me
Then ask yourself why do you
Believe what you believe
Then start to
Set your spirit free
Catch up with the rest of us!
Nov 2, 2020
Nov 2, 2020 at 6:38 AM UTC
Clubbing blows, given and received
Night after night, day after day
Physically, mentally
Socially, politically
The audacity to believe he could make it
The greatest
The dedication to follow through on his promise
The greatest
The audacity to call the white man the devil
And the humility to apologise
Wrong is really wrong when you can’t admit it
Just another side shuffle from the man with the world’s fastest hands
Floating like a butterfly, this way and that
Flawed? Of course
Who isn’t?
Why our insistence on holding our idols to standards that we ourselves can’t meet?
Of course flawed, but the greatest nonetheless
If nowhere else but in his own mind
Where else matters?
Who cares what the world says when you yourself know yourself to be great?
With the belief that he is great comes the ability to act as if he is great
The greatest knows his greatness and desires the world to join him
Being the greatest
If only in his own mind
Freed him from the shackles
Freed him from the chains
Enabled him to stand and fight
And echo the famous words around the world
Filling the ears, hearts and minds of all who would listen
Young, old, black, white and everything in between
I AM THE GREATEST
Sep 2, 2020
Sep 2, 2020 at 9:13 AM UTC
Ali's Song
by Michael R. Burch
for Muhammad Ali
They say that gold don't tarnish. It ain't so.
They say it has a wild, unearthly glow.
A man can be more beautiful, more wild.
I flung their medal to the river, child.
I flung their medal to the river, child.
They hung their coin around my neck; they made
my name a bridle, "called a ***** a *****
They say their gold is pure. I say defiled.
I flung their slave's name to the river, child.
I flung their slave's name to the river, child.
Ain't got no quarrel with no Viet Cong
that never called me ****** did me wrong.
A man can't be lukewarm, 'cause God hates mild.
I flung their notice to the river, child.
I flung their notice to the river, child.
They said, "Now here's your bullet and your gun,
and there's your cell: we're waiting, you choose one."
At first I groaned aloud, but then I smiled.
I gave their "future" to the river, child.
I gave their "future" to the river, child.
My face reflected up, dark bronze like gold,
a coin God stamped in His own image—BOLD.
My blood boiled like that river—strange and wild.
I died to hate in that dark river, child,
Come, be reborn in this bright river, child.
The poem above has been set to music in a YouTube video by Lillian Y. Wong.
You are free to copy the poem for noncommercial use, such as a school project, essay or report, or just because you like it and want to share, but please credit Michael R. Burch as the author.
NOTES: (1) Muhammad Ali said that he threw his Olympic gold medal into the Ohio River after experiencing racism in his hometown of Louisville, Kentucky. Confirming his account, the medal was recovered by Robert Bradbury and his wife Pattie in 2014 during the Annual Ohio River Sweep. The Ali family paid $200,000 to regain possession of the medal. Ali later made a joke about the incident that caused him to toss his medal into the river. He said that he took his medal into a white downtown restaurant and ordered a cheeseburger. The waitress told him, "We don't serve negroes." Ali replied, "I don't eat them either. Just bring me a cheeseburger!" (2) When drafted during the Vietnam War, Ali refused induction, reputedly saying: "I ain't got no quarrel with those Viet Cong; no Vietnamese ever called me a ****** (3) The notice mentioned in my poem is Ali's draft notice, which metaphorically gets tossed into the river along with his slave name. (4) The poem was originally published by the literary journal Black Medina. It has since been published by Other Voices International, Thanal Online, Freshet, Poems About and Poem List.
For Ali, Fighting Time
by Michael R. Burch
So now your speech is not as clear . . .
time took its toll each telling year . . .
and O how tragic that your art,
so brutal, broke your savage heart.
But we who cheered each blow that fell
within that ring of torrent hell
never dreamed to see you maimed,
bowed and bloodied, listless, tamed.
For you were not as other men
as we cheered and cursed you then;
no, you commanded dreams and time—
blackgold Adonis, bold, sublime.
And once your glory leapt like fire—
pure and potent. No desire
ever burned as fierce or bright.
Oh Ali, Ali . . . win this fight!
Me?
Whee!
(I stole this poem
From Muhammad Ali.)
—Michael R. Burch
The poem above was written in response to the Quora question: “Can you write a poem titled “Me”?
In My House
by Michael R. Burch
I was once the only caucasian in the software company I founded and managed. I had two fine young black programmers working for me, and they both had keys to my house. This poem looks back to the dark days of slavery and the Civil War it produced.
When you were in my house
you were not free—
in chains bound.
Manifest Destiny?
I was wrong;
my plantation burned to the ground.
I was wrong.
This is my song,
this is my plea:
I was wrong.
When you are in my house,
now, I am not free.
I feel the song
hurling itself back at me.
We were wrong.
This is my history.
I feel my tongue
stilting accordingly.
We were wrong;
brother, forgive me.
Published by Black Medina
Poet to poet
by Michael R. Burch
This poem imagines a discussion between Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who spoke so poetically about his dream of equality, and a poet who speaks in parentheses.
I have a dream
(pebbles in a sparkling sand)
of wondrous things.
I see children
(variations of the same man)
playing together.
Black and yellow, red and white,
(stone and flesh, a host of colors)
together at last.
I see a time
(each small child another's cousin)
when freedom shall ring.
I hear a song
(sweeter than the sea sings)
of many voices.
I hear a jubilation
(respect and love are the gifts we must bring)
shaking the land.
I have a message,
(sea shells echo, the melody rings)
the message of God.
I have a dream
(all pebbles are merely smooth fragments of stone)
of many things.
I live in hope
(all children are merely small fragments of One)
that this dream shall come true.
I have a dream . . .
(but when you're gone, won't the dream have to end?)
Oh, no, not as long as you dream my dream too!
Here, hold out your hand, let's make it come true.
(i can feel it begin)
Lovers and dreamers are poets too.
(poets are lovers and dreamers too)
I, Too, Have a Dream
by Michael R. Burch writing as “The Child Poets of Gaza”
I, too, have a dream ...
that one day Jews and Christians
will see me as I am:
a small child, lonely and afraid,
staring down the barrels of their big bazookas,
knowing I did nothing
to deserve their enmity.
I, too, have a dream ...
My Nightmare ...
by Michael R. Burch writing as “The Child Poets of Gaza”
I had a dream of Jesus!
Mama, his eyes were so kind!
But behind him I saw a billion Christians
hissing "You're nothing!," so blind.
Less Heroic Couplets: Miss Bliss
by Michael R. Burch
Domestic “bliss”?
Best to swing and miss!
Less Heroic Couplets: Then and Now
by Michael R. Burch
BEFORE: Thanks to Brexit, our lives will be plush! ...
AFTER: Crap, we’re going broke! What the hell is the rush?
Less Heroic Couplets: Dear Pleader
by Michael R. Burch
Is our Dear Pleader, as he claims, heroic?
I prefer my presidents a bit more stoic.
Less Heroic Couplets: Less than Impressed
by Michael R. Burch
for T. M., regarding certain dispensers of lukewarm air
Their volume’s impressive, it’s true ...
but somehow it all seems “much ado.”
Less Heroic Couplets: Poetry I
by Michael R. Burch
Poetry is the heart’s caged rhythm,
the soul’s frantic tappings at the panes of mortality.
Less Heroic Couplets: Poetry II
by Michael R. Burch
Poetry is the trapped soul’s frantic tappings
at the panes of mortality.
Less Heroic Couplets: Seesaw
by Michael R. Burch
A poem is the mind teetering between fact and fiction,
momentarily elevated.
Less Heroic Couplets: Passions
by Michael R. Burch
Passions are the heart’s qualms,
the soul’s squalls, the brain’s storms.
Keywords/Tags: Muhammad Ali, boxing, violence, The Greatest, race, racism, racist, discrimination, black, slave name, Vietnam War, Olympics, gold medal, God, Muslim, Islam, Islamic, tribute, mrbali, mrbrace, mrbsport, mrbsports, mrbsong
Mar 7, 2020
Mar 7, 2020 at 5:17 AM UTC
(0)
Fly perfectly straight and high, and show the fly
out of the fly-bottle on your way.
Rise to victory, far above the blue sky,
Reap the reward: the opening of paradise!
The road ahead is clear and open this way,
with things small and big growing and disappearing up this way.
You will see sunrises and sunsets waxing and waning,
with mention of the moon and stars in the dark.
Be mindful as you sway, it's got to be laser-sharp.
There is no hard shoulder on this highway,
miss it by an inch and risk losing everything forever!
There is hope, there is light up high
pick up your paintbrush, just like the sun does
goodness knows how it sneaks in, right in the black
canvas of the night, painting the first light
lo, it shows up in heaven, the candle of the daylight.
As long as there is a man and a woman,
never give up, our canary bird can fly
rosy or not, the nest in every morn nets a sunrise!
(1)
A woman indeed plucks up the courage
she never had to look up to the stars
be it for the guide or the light in the night.
Fathima herself was the full Moon every night
is thanks to her Godsent innate light.
With it, she can bask in the full spread of the pi
on top of its short decimals mounting high
constantly as if countless stars in the sky.
The time and space under the sun
and that under Fathima's light
are far apart from each other
yet they coexist side by side.
As she points out,
"A circle (circumference) is masculine
while pi (blank space) is feminine."
Pi forms the circle with fine prints,
decimal dots continue to spring,
sprawling trillions of new digits,
the bandwagon is still increasing.
Connecting the dots is an untouched dream.
The full moon pi picture is veiled,
unseen at large, yet in short, 3.145 it can live!
(2)
Fathima flies her lock of hair
in the lurking air of the transcended pi
the primitive feminine does that,
no wonder she is God's secret feminine opus!
An immeasurable black hole lies in between
the short and transcended pi, running like a river,
dancing anew on every riverbank
in the many curls of Fathima's jet black hair.
She lent out a hair to the planet earth
and crossed over like a silhouette
without spilling out the colour
of the transcended end of the pi.
The earth takes it in the core in her heart
as if it would keepsake it forever.
Weaving the pi in Fathima embeds two hairs ties one
perfect circle at the back and one at the front of the universe.
Inside each hair the earth is finest fluid in the core
none is as deep as high as proportionate a perfect flow.
No time is as revealing no music is as sweet in this orb
no force is as mighty nor as prevailing a true giant
causing gravity and the heat at the earth's core.
Matter and spirit mix free in the play both wax lyrical
thanks to the pure resonance of 'Qun Be' the word of God!
(3)
The way to the earth's core is exposed to no masculine
save the Angel of Death the lucky one.
See both sides of the one lofty sky swathed in countless stars
but the day and night render through still remains an unseen one
Terra is shalet zeroed in Fathima is heaven on earth!
Up in the sky-high bank turning the starry bowl upside down
Fathima took no star nor a pearl diving deep down the Arab water,
the brightest luminary came after Muhammad (PBUH),
in veil from the Night of Measures and into the flipside in the night
she's gone without lifting the veil but left her penetrating mark.
Few could find the shortcut contemplating on a blank canvas
the Moon looks down into the abyss down the sea eyes on far
for a mirror in the bottom on the as above so below matter
since Godsent Fathima touched on the all-inclusive primitive water.
The sun gets caught up in the very water drop she raised in the sky
the ancient fold of time still unfurls with the sun-kissed flowers
for the new hands yet the fingerprint on the sun remains only her!
Azrael heads to Fathima around the year 632 after death
touches down in Medina on his usual thin earth he steps.
But this time a little mundane dust couldn't be thicker
he keeps descending deep down to the earth's centre
following from Medina but the angel locates her
inside the perfect circle a closed geometric figure.
(4)
Fathima is the female headline her secret is not all known
when she would visit the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH)
he would stand up for her hold her hand and kiss it
and seat her on his seat, she would do the same to the prophet
when he would visit her like they did know each other
in and outside the spheres of heaven and earth!
She is the embodiment of the infinite feminine variations
the first woman (spiritual) created following God's word Qun.
Her is the mother tongue of the ever diversified feminine lingua
no one woman on her own can rhyme with her alone
she has no peer her rhetoric is unique like none other.
The galactic run from planet to planet up on the starry ladder
climbing high up the mountain heaven yet streams out like oval
off their rock bottom stone until that unleashes the final run
in perfect circle delving into the rhythm of the loop at the centre
made of Fathima's hair charged by 'Qun' God's uncreated word.
Prophet David can sing on the bank of the river
and can see the fish are jumping to him out of the water.
The masculine is open form, eye on everywhere,
but not her the woman is in juxtaposition her
all-inclusive schema supplanting the details rest only on her.
She is the unseen world within the world at best imagine her!
Guess, through this inwardly open door who might disappear?
It's nature before the scientist on ultimate discovery of the matter!
Aligning with her down the rainbow up high the land absorbs
the grooming sky looking on the running rivers within her.
Her words spread through like the smart cloud that flies far
over the lands and valleys but not even the wind none other
gets a sniff of the potion and melody it caries until that rain down
without a hurdle without a visual she moves on at the target
such a soul needs no after death lift from the angel of death.
Before Azrael Fathima unties an arc of the circle then and there
so not the earth but giant Azrael can take the pressure!
Marked by a fluid discharge since then she is cooling this fire
In Shaa Allah God willing when that she ajars only to be elixir!
(5)
Draw a line thousand and one time
Perfectly done still it won't be a straight one.
Fly perfect straight to the sky
Lucky you but won't be on a straight line.
The waxing crescent moon's arc kisses the sky
Little firefly mimics flies
up and down down on the earth.
Moves in golden ration 1.618 not the full two
and gets the designing formula flawlessly full
micro to macro all levels all the way to the true north!
Fathima being the original feminine eyeing at her
taps in the knowhow of naturally feminine nature.
And discovers the immanent pattern - the world
is pre-designed and measured never was a coincidence.
The creatures' creativity, scientist's science
is to follow, discover working formulas like phi and pi.
Play along it works until an unknown hour strikes
comes with accurate knowledge dead on time
numerically correct never miss taking a life away
as if it was calculated beforehand before the birth.
A newborn is born for a limited time
already set but no one knows when it goes up
is a deadlock clock but it isn't so shrouded
in the blueprint of the creatures' grand design
there the clock ticks safe and sounds it never dies!
(6)
Fathima hailing from the other side of the pool
eyes on the ever live pre-design side of the creation!
Then its corporeal face was only a water drop,
the primitive one looks see-through it has dead zero
knowledge of its lively other side of the pool.
She comes closer and perfectly mirrors both sides
that shines through on her reflected face on the water.
An absolute new image that livens up the dead part
Bang - Big Bang! The corporeal world gets the spark
explodes out from the very first drop of the water!
Fathima's appearance composed on the water miracle
God reveals nature the finite and infinite, 0 and 1,
future in the present and the death and life in play!
Nature follows suit it just saw the perfect role model
banged out but only to its corporeal set
it aspires to be with its infinite reality yet!
Fathima leaves the door open constructing a perfect circle,
hardly straight, took the mixed bag of countless variations
she zooms into the abyss irrational portion of the first matter,
the primitive water drop and aces the circle with her hair
that nothing can equate throughout the corporeal world.
Done the math discovering the zero starting point at the bottom.
The ocean of digit numbers, the DNA of all things material
banged out of it, still, the zero is numberless irrational!
(7)
All things, within oneself and in a set constantly vibrate,
strive to align with the enduring reality of itself.
The atom vibrates to reach out to its immortal portion
that doesn't die and is in the know of its lower base.
The planets are in a defined circular orbit, accurately measured
just the apex on top of their dynamic pyramid the pyramidon
is tucked away; they too have an irrational portion in the circle.
With the finest spin, they zoom in the spacious universe,
in part and like the sun outside the constellations round they go
never miss a target line yet to re-discover Fathima's perfect circle
the origin of their digital essences' breakthrough
the door to their transcended destination de jour.
Lo the matter turns the last stone pulsing across the cosmos
the mortal horizontal spread, the spirit returns home.
The earth's swansong has a line it has a place in paradise
it's not here to stay for good neither to perish forever!
Matters form and break without losing the rope,
it's not to paint the shades of the eternal blue
but to ace an irrational portion in the circle
at the heart of the earth, as above, so below.
The deep the high the perfect circle
up and down the centre of gravitation for all!
The matter at even or at odd the vibration within is fluid
somewhere is parched there the arch matter must make a splash.
Far away on a dark beach, the sea of the matters goes all in all
the most glowed up physical firefly rises deep from the bottom
pouring billowy potions the moon roams at the the front!
(8)
The seven seas swell up smoothly into the moonlight-dip
oh, the waterless Moon at the core is still fasting.
Led by time the sweet swan punting along the waves
streams down the watery inner circle of the planets.
Until stacks in the Moon no water in the last waterfront
but paradise is on the other side of the pool!
The sun dips away into the night
eyes on the eve baths in the shades of pink and gold,
the dazzling hues soon turn to taupe.
Drawing down painting the picture in full colour
only to find the time is up on the halfway,
yet to print a colour copy of the night!
The other unseen half is passed down to the Moon
tiptoeing in slow motion in the depths of the night
barely keeping the head afloat in a fathomless ocean
of shades of black hails from where knows no one.
The sun enkindles the moon half-lit
keep itself half-sight away!
As if it knows a Mehrem
a veiled female is ahead on the sight!
Wrapped in the eternal night beneath its black mole
once the moon on the front approaching most close
directly down to the centre of the earth eyes on
over that inlaid string hairy black perfect circle
never did it turn back the same gaze is still on
orbiting around the earth in synchronous rotation.
(9)
The night ever in closed circle deepening fast
into the wee hours of time
In Shaa Allah I will see it with my own eyes before I die
In an odd Ramadan night in the Night of Measures
Fathima from the transcendental end of irrational heart
will turn on top of the curve opening for the first time
a 9-degree angle in the circle at the centre of the earth.
Instantly the leading force, time will get the first sniff
of the other world, so peaceful heart-melting serene.
Rapturous time feeling an ounce of the enduring peace
for the first time cutting all the corners with ease
will propel into its yet uncharted golden mean.
Scurrying to the peaceful realm time will be on its wings
the full eyeball spectrum across the globe stunned, eying
How fast time passes then on is incredibly quick!
Fathima, the first spiritual woman on duty, will start
pulling her hair back off the circle at the centre
Juxtaposed in between the worlds of here and hereafter.
She will take back every inch of it, the heavenly bodies
will feel the pinch of her every little subtle pull
that too is a boon helping them perfect their circle.
(10)
Soon she opens it just 9-degree wide at first
the Moon will see a glimpse of the first drop of water.
Without it, it's living perched without the water of life
that's destined to rain down soon and the Moon
back into its original pond shall revive!
Mapping the pi's whole infinitesimals playground
finally, Fathima will turn the circle upside down
the sun then will rise in the western sky!
By then under Fathima's hair's shaded closed circle
lo, it sails far over the blue sky in the other world.
The time is finally ticking fast to rain down with love
paradise's welcoming schema rendering in waterpaint
surfaces on the Moon, the most glowed up firefly,
gently gleams over the sea of matters.
Finally the natural galactic panache catches glimpses
of their heavenly adopted, Miʿrāj performed, primitive water.
There in the Moon with the seven seas
leavening off its complete corporeal shell
to be with the ultimate stately water nymph
will dip in making a splash
plopping into the pond of paradise!
For the matter ultimately is water and its extent is sound
Fathima will fetch it the water of life and take it to the next life!
Oh, the matter shall do both die and revive with Israfil's flute
the cloud will fly out of the dead water on the ground,
like the earth with chorus songs of the rain revives.
When that a melodious nymph in the water makes waves
see paradise is here the Moon over the sea can't take off its eyes.
(11)
Hang on though they all set ready on their horizontal span
to pull in such a fluid yet colourful descending like a rainbow swan.
First chaste Fathima will evaporate her hair's perfume away
that's yet lingering in the water warming it up to its premium
no crowd then can see where this heady, fragrant cloud will fly!
There are the momentum and delights where that will alight.
Israfil might then blow his trumpet swooning the world away
the secret will remain a secret exception is said in the Qur'an.
A strange sound will silence the chorus of the innate digits
collapsing the floating cosmos bubbling on their innate music.
The corporeal circle will collapse as if there is no base no pi
the melody of the first word Qun means Be will still be loud
supercalifragilisticexpialidocious so how can we all expire?
Israfil too will play his reviving trumpet pure mellifluous
and In Shaa Allah numerically perfect Fathima will rise
amidst the resonant Qun as like she did in the beginning
when except prophet Muhammad (PBUH) there was nothing!
Now the earth once zeroed in beneath her hair will follow her
the stunned terra will discover Fathima took her hair away
only to shift the constellation up onto the upper world!
The old songs of the planets the chorus of the digits will revive
from the zero bases in the core the digital panache that dance
planet upon the planet cause they are always at the perfect hertz.
The narrative of the soulful melodious 'Qun Be' runs deep
the essence of matter is digit and digit's essence is music indeed
Indeed that is yet to come, the arts of the fine layers
opening from the irrational pi, the finest one is to flower
when Fathima will unloop her circled hair at the centre
piercing the very immanent irrational cut
that no creation can fathom only the loving creator Allah
will turn odd to even in between the here and hereafter
then the ocean stuck in deep salt shall turn to enduring potion!
The As-Sirat shall turn to be the bridge to paradise
the body shall revive with the enduring soul forever
and Fathima couple shall enter paradise In Shaa Allah with ah
with the rhapsody 'all praise is for Allah' Alhamdulillah!
Jan 13, 2020
Jan 13, 2020 at 4:05 PM UTC
I asked God—standing; lying prone tonight
Tears made visible God's throne tonight
Mi'raj—so God raised Muhammad to Skies
Then don't tell me, Lord is alone tonight
Love turned hatred—this is not her act
God! Who turned her heart stone tonight?
Ah! Holy anxiety—I am gruelled—By God
With teary eyes and hollow bone tonight
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 1:25 AM UTC
Peace be upon you
Peace be upon you.
The moment you were born
were summoned to Earth
far from heaven.
Far no more, no more
heaven is now an open door
close to the believers' souls!
Peace be upon you
Peace be upon you.
The moment did you dip
your toe in this mortal soil.
Mortal no more, no more
it becomes sublimely
the most beautiful of all!
Peace be upon you
Peace be upon you.
The moment you breathed life
your perfume stirred the water
the meaning of life is obscured
no more, no more
it’s all clear like the full moon!
Peace be upon you
Peace be upon you.
East to the west
you are the best.
The leading light
shines at the fore.
'Rahmatul lil Alamin'
Mercy to the world.
for the mankind
for the evening star
and the morning rose
you brought peace to all!
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 3:18 PM UTC
The hallowed turf is a six-seasonal
always one step ahead on Earth.
So exceptional a land is out of the box
acutely drawn down the Moon
and sublimely unique is written in stone!
A patch of land every star loves to touch
so much so the Mintaka know they can mirror
the pyramid on the surface of the earth
but not the tucked away zenana here
the planetary gem, the earth's gold dust:
Matches the lead Prophet's birthplace!
Open and globular star clusters
up above the mundane Himalayas peak look
diagonally into Sylhet down the Meghalaya stardust
eying on for a shortcut to Earth's gold dust
that only gushes out elixirs Abe Hayat.
Lovely sought after by the water nymphs
that won't tarry scurrying to the waterfront of paradise
in Ma, the space between, while the waxing moon
takes a waning pause only to roll down and croon
in deep tranquil, thaws the midnight moonlit blue pond
amidst silhouetted bamboos, the sun after a night pause,
there it blooms new again bathing in the morn!
Boarding in such a serendipitous moment, they dream,
carried out just these hidden elixirs in their pitchers
before Queen Fathima The Queen of Heaven.
Perfectly spherical she zeroes in the cosmic loop
and spills in the open sea one more colourless scoop
without a pinch of salt there the sunrise and set troupe
pause and lay in once again the most colourful swoop.
Up above heaven's Saal Saabila River
on the empyrean Moon, she hops on one foot
and down the evergreen Earth's spring dips a toe
without a shadow without a footprint, tone on tone
ties both worlds forever in bloom!
Blow the wrap off, score a preserved geometry
somewhere in Sylhet, even the Hebrew King David here
would offer his thousand and one melodic symposium
and King Solomon princely his whole affluent shebang.
'Cause the prevailing sun from heaven this time
could roll down on a palm simply like a handful of earth!
Oh, what will it land in Sylhet, the pearl of the earthy depth?
Art in light, the spark from the Earth's foundation stone?
Eyes gaze on so firm like the solid sky yet surge like kite
in the air looking here over a truly pristine drop of water
with the ocean is inside until it shows up down the blue sky
though rainbows oft pop out tantalising every looking eye!
The fairy that ascends then is a stealer no hand can touch
seven colours shine on a patch of blue unspoiled untouched
took on a meaning for Sylhet in a handful of earth
matching the soil of Makkah the centre of the Earth
the birthplace of the lead prophet Muhammad (PBUH)!
One who is in the know hops on the foundation stone
and rose to heaven in the Night of Ascension.
How a regular soil mirrors the very pivotal one?
The labyrinth is out of this world, relates to Queen Maab
let alone a native maestro that no genie can describe!
Every atom loves to discover the meaning of that
it knows the constant vibrations of the never-ending dance
keeping it on its toe the choreography comes from outside.
The feet are most polished and motions are butterfly dance,
still the canvas is blank, light one more candlelight!
Light a candle in Sylhet I wonder here the moonlight
spills through even into an atom's black canvas and the sun
lovely drops down on a handful of earth on the flipside!
Meet here the open future shows up at the Earth's hub
the moon's anew rallying to the untouching-sea
the Indian subcontinent's corner to the ancient wind!
Go with the southern breeze on play with the sun
here it colours the wind, gives it its Midas touch
and strikes a deal to part a silhouetted cloud.
That a beauty spot raises the eyebrows of the day on a high,
on the shining face of the golden Bangla in broad daylight!
Hark the morning birds, follow singing deep in the midst
mellifluous-shrills fill the air unveiling the dream scenes!
Ah, the deep footed earth how mystique,
every morning the sun off the heaven's hill
lays in a new diaphanous gold-light-rug beneath it,
only to loose its colours in a colourless magic
let alone painting its footprint!
Every time is new numerates the bounties of our land
craving to sip in a dew-potion on our blossoming rose
cirrus clouds dancing over the seas here they drop
banish the midday blues singing the deep sea's song!
Nestled amidst the Rivers Surma, Kushiara and Monu
perched on the shades of the trees, each one is a canvas.
Returning melodic birds crescendo by the downstream
hail from the autumnal breeze on the upstream.
Six seasons rebound alike leap and swing on the trees
unpacking their intricate and mesmeric fluid designs
often make a meal of the obvious and work of art alike!
Stunned angels on their way heaven taking one more sunset
potted in the starry bowl look back here at the wee hours.
They can hear pianissimo on this preserved perennial land
it never falls asleep is awake with a perfectly round
360-degree circle of spiritually impowered dynamos
dead but live on a different level Dervishes
keeping an ear on the hallowed Sylhet's ground.
A deep-seated truth, rock-solid Shilahatta in Sanskrit
clothed in an enduring vesture minted Sylhet loops in
with the Hebrew Bible's Shalet, a ruler, a shield!
A little drop makes the mighty ocean
likewise with one single word on the lips,
the maestros' great epics begin to be told.
Just with a mundane handful of earth
pristine Sylhet's masterpiece begins to unfold.
With the whole ball of wax keeping us onboard
lo, before the face of the Earth, it unveils the mirror!
With the whole nine yards on her least hold
believe it or not, Sylhet is cherry-picked chosen by God!
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 1:43 PM UTC
No one has or will have a Light like his,
He, who was sent as a Mercy and bliss.
One man, yet much uncountable blessings,
Clueless how to repay for all of this.
I do envy those who have seen his face,
To times I have not seen I do reminisce.
We still have yet not seen his bright being.
Until that Day, it is the rose we miss.
Mâhî lacks rhymes to continue this praise,
That Day will show how luminous he is.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 1:49 PM UTC
You had no shadow
because you're a light
The clouds followed you with shade
because you're a mercy
Your sins before and after
were forgiven
because you belong to paradise
Angel Gabriel got lost in your light
because you're the finest of creations
You had the ring of the prophets
because you're chosen
Your message is for the whole world
because you are the last of the prophets.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC
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.
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 5:41 PM UTC
It was stepping into the Afterlife
With extraterrestrial angels
Singing the chorus of My Sweet Lord
In otherworldly harmonic unison
As George Harrison embraced me
Open arms, his face transforming
Between his and Jesus Christ's
And mind you, not the one you know
But the true Middle Easterner
Most Christians tend to forget
It was a segue into a golden palace
Where Krishna showered me
With korma flavored karma
For all deeds gone unnoticed
In a life of ego and suffering
It was a most revealing of times
It was a feeling of fearful dread
When Muhammad appeared
Before he gently let me know
Misrepresentation by extremism
Had plagued his holy message
And to just live for your neighbor
It was inside a bamboo house
That was set on a tropical land
I went in to simply find peace
And saw a golden glowing man
Meditate a couple feet in the air
With one eye open, he said
"I could **** you with one thought
Conversely, you could too
However, we sit in peace
And there is great power in that"
It was all the same
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 7:02 AM UTC
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!
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 5:21 PM UTC
Cloud formed above with a cold shade
Walked with his heads down, humble
He put smile on every face, never fade
People adored his honesty, they mumble
Whether you disagree the fact, he told it
Said it for the grace of the people, he loved
Got the message and he put his life for it
They spat spite inspite his honesty, hated
The believers, the supporters, they failed
Couldn't help the prophet but to obey him
Never atttack back, just defend, then exiled
They sieged lands, helpless, went with him
Years later, commandments descended
Won their land back, no more bloodshed
Freed the slaves, freedom for all, but laws
Women be brave, you're safe, no more bows
Except for your God
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 12:09 AM UTC
The crowd roars.
Out comes the king of the ring.
His silk robe draped over his massive shoulders,
He is looking for a fight.
But beneath those big gloved hands are the hands of a hero.
The hands of a man who never thought of just himself.
The hands that put George Foreman on his ***
He floated like a butterfly and stung like a bee,
Yet nobody will ever top The Great Ali.
To my hero, and my father’s hero. Rest well.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 2:38 AM UTC
The ten count is over
He's down for the count
The Greatest is gone from this world
But, we will remember
He will stay here forever
As we think of the quips that he hurled
As fast as his fists flew
His lip was much faster
He rhymed with the greatest of ease
Parkinson's slowed him
But, we will remember
The Greatest of All...ALI
Known by the masses
After his time in the ring
He was an angel sent to this earth
He had his convictions
Became a man of the people
He showed what a real life was worth
A true gentle giant
With the speed of a mongoose
The Louisville Lip...that was he
We all know his trademark
How he floated and stung
The Greatest...Muhammad Ali
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 7:15 PM UTC
In a desert midnight no darker than dawn
With cloudless heavens evident and stretching
To the edges of Bedouins’ minds and ours
Where owls govern with Your permission
You plunged a mighty fist deep
Into the heart and gripped a molten rag
And pulled it into a peak of crags
In which the **** You wanted grew
With a rush of wind you shaped that
Tear into a world-sized hollow to shelter
A man and a starfilled future for any who
Might accept what tugged at him that night
You once said Be! and time commenced
But earlier you had chosen from first
Until final a stream of Rusul and You placed
In that cleft the last Rasul alone but never
And in the radiance of a challenging word
Your spirit whose wings dripped pearls
Asked the silent one who sailed in prayer
To revolve the world on a different axis
Running feet across the earth carried him
To the comfort of arms that felt a beating
Chest bursting with ten million truths and her
Assurances trounced the whisperer’s last ditch
Words of mercy flow around us through a gentle
Heart in a stone cavity in the shade of a night
Without shadows beneath a cloudless cover
Which owls rule ... for a shrinking time
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC
You never felt snow tighten your skin with a sting
You never searched for the shore from the crest of a wave
You never grinned at the gait of a penguin
You never saw a whale’s grey fluke sink after rising
You never breathed in coffee’s warm rich aroma
You never heard the clearing of a smoker’s throat
You never saw headlights peer through dawn fog
You never smiled at an American accent
You never waited in a queue at the bank
You never cringed at the words of a driving instructor
You never sat and failed a biology test
You never kicked a football across the road
You never changed batteries in a tv remote
You never emptied the lawn-mower catcher
You never rushed to catch a bus and missed it
Yet exulted He chose you
Praise and glory to Him
Picked you from this world
And for it
The last in the line
The path straight to follow
To Him high above all
Alhamdulillah!
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 12:33 AM UTC
Autumn scattered allover sorrow and leafs,
But sun will shine not knowing the griefs.
Amun -Ra in other world is happy at last:
Elvish prophet predicted the forecast.
Legends and myths give us hope everyday,
Make think how actually close is Milk Way
And Peter Apostle sometimes with Athena
Waltzing in sands of Coliseum arena .
You know, I do believe in Jesus the Christ
Prophets of Muhammad are highly priced
I share wisdom of Gautama the Buddha
In my dreams Vishnu appeared on Garuda.
See nymphs enjoying dew drop in a dawn
Letter on ground made by steps of a faun.
As fables flocking like river through wood,
I shall always believe in love and in Good.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 9:46 AM UTC
In the streets of Mecca
and Medina I pray I get lost.
Searching my way whole
day in heat I will exhaust.__
Who knows after being
much tossed and shoved.
I may find the stepped paths
of my Mustafa beloved.__
I'll garland and decorate those
paths with flowers nice;
As those will be paths of
success leading to paradise.__
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 7:29 AM UTC
Is it ...
" Politically Incorrect " ... ?
For Me To ... " Suggest " ...
Our Lives Are ...
... " CONTROLLED " ...
By A ... "Secret Sect" ... ?!?
Is It ...
" Politically Incorrect " ... ?
To Be So Direct ...
When Airing My View ...
On Controversial Subjects ... ?
The World's In A MESS ... !!!
But Meantime ... " The Press " ...
Continue To Test ...
My Patience With ... LIES ...
That MILLIONS ... Digest ... !!!!
Most Stories ...
Have ... " DEFECTS " ... !!!
That We Should ... Deflect ... !!!
Cos' Editors Prey ...
On The Weak And Inject ...
Political Views ... With ...
IMPROPER ... News ... !!!!!
So ....
What Do You Choose ... ?
Mental Abuse ... ?!?
Or ... Do You Want TRUTH ... ?
On Which ... You Can Chew ... ?
Is It ... Politically CORRECT ... !?!
To Say ...
" Coloured " ... Not Black ... ?
When BLACK Is A Word ...
Used in ... Racial Attacks ... ???
Is It Wrong To Say ...
..... ****** ...... !!!!!!!!
When ... This Is A Word ...
That Makes Rappers ... Six Figures ... !?!
No Wonder ... Young Blacks ...
Are Now ... Pulling The Trigger ... !!!!!
Having Read Through That Verse ...
I've Got .... TWITCHY Fingers .... !!!
The Smell of Death ... Lingers ................................................
On ... MOST City Streets ...
So ...
Is This Correct ... ?
Just Ask The Police ... !!!
Is Crime On The incREASE ... ?
HELL YEAH ... I Believe ... !!!
But ...
NOT JUST ... " Petty Thief " ...
What About Party Chiefs ... ?
"They would NEVER STEAL !!!"
Come On People ... PLEASE ... !!!!!
They Steal Peoples' Lives ...
While ... Giving Out DEATH ... !!!!!!!!
So ... Will I Survive ... ?
With ... Life Signs NOT VITAL ... !?!
This Poem's ... " Entitled " ...
... " Politically INCORRECT " ...
Like Suggesting ...
.... " Collusion " ...
ENDED ... Malcolm X ... !!!
" Collusion ... Collusion ... "
Malcolm .....
Died In ... Confusion ... ???
From ... MANY Gunshots ... !!!
What A ...
HORRID ... Conclusion ... !!!!!
These Words Are CORRECT ...
Dis - secting ... Illusions ... !!!
So ...
What About ... " Clay " ... ?
YES ... " Muhammad Ali " ...
A Man Who ...
Spoke TRUTH ....
In His ... Poetry ... !!!
Well Maybe That's Why ...
He's Got ... Parkinsons' Now ... ???
Cos' America ... Knew ...
They'd Best ... SHUT HIM DOWN ... !!!!
Cos' The Masses Heard TRUTH ...
When He ... Opened His Mouth ...
" He fought on for TOO LONG ! "
Is The ... " Good Ol' Song " ...
Well It Seems ... " Kinda Funny " ...
I Think He Was ... WRONGED ... !!!
Well .....
That Comment ... I Guess ... ?
May Seem ... INCORRECT ... ?!?
But It's ...
One I'll ... STAND BY ...
On This ... You Can Bet ... !!!
Cos' ... Muhammad Ali ...
STILL ... INSPIRES ME ... !!!
A Man of ... TRUE SUBSTANCE ... !!!
With ... Heart In ABUNDANCE ... !!!
Who Did Not Believe ...
In ... Congresses NONSENSE ... !!!
Talking of Which ...
I Have To Say ... THIS ... !!!
When You Go To The Bank ...
Cos' You ... Need Them To Lend ... !!!
How Can They DEFEND ... !?!
DENYING Us ... CASH ...
When They've ... Got ...
A .... HUGE STASH .... !?!
But I Bet ... Write Out Cheques ...
For Their ... " Corporate Friends " ... !!!
Well It Seems ...
There I Go ...
INCORRECTNESS ... Again ... !!!!!
Incorrectness ... To Me ...
DEFINES ... Corporate Men ... !!!
But I Guess ... " Most of You " ... ?
Feel My Words Just OFFEND ... !!!
And Maybe My Words .... ?
Will Indeed ... Be My End ... !!!!!
Here's ....
ONE FINAL ... " Stanza " ...
To ... "Mentally Capture" ...
REDUNDANT ... Brain Matter ...
Absorbing ... FAKE DATA ... !!!
I Inject With ... INTELLECT ...
While These ... "Secret Sects" ...
PROTECT and COLLECT ...
While Black Folk ...
Live In ... DEBT ... !!!
Political Correctness ...
Has Got Some ... DEFECTS ... !!!!!
So ...
That's My Last Question ...
Am I .....
... " Politically Incorrect " ... ???
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC