#spritual
Do not fear, Love—I am with you.
Life at times is bitter strife,
With restless thunder in the rain;
Yet love persists, gentle and eternal.
Though bright rapture seems to fade,
It dwells within the quiet heart,
A tranquil, enduring shade.
Do not fear, Love—I am with you.
Should sudden defeat appear,
Let not the brave spirit fall.
Perhaps in boundless silence vast,
Our lonely voices may be lost;
Or we struggle and rise at last,
And long-sought bliss be crossed.
Mar 28
Mar 28, 2026 at 2:18 PM UTC
When I sit beside the lake in daylight,
The world seems to breathe more gently.
The water is still, calm, and shining.
your face appears upon its surface—
And I am lost in you—vague dreamily
When I sit beside the lake at twilight,
The red light falls on the silent water;
Your face awakens, pale and infinite.
Then it melts softly into the water—
I fear your soul is fading with the lake.
Mar 21
Mar 21, 2026 at 1:22 PM UTC
When I am angry at you,
Love seems to disappear.
The world grows dim and silent,
As though no light were here.
You speak only in silence;
Your eyes sink down in grief.
Then slowly you depart from me,
As twilight leaves the leaf.
When I am angry at you,
I cry, “Love has fled away!”
I leave the place in thunder
And turn from you that day.
But when the moon climbs high,
My mind begins to roam.
Perhaps you slept in quiet peace
And I was wrong to storm.
Mar 14
Mar 14, 2026 at 12:21 PM UTC
Body on the bed burns with fever.
Morning seems brighter, yellowish;
sunlight soaks my dirt-shrunk shirt. A small page slips from a book,
written: "Take care of yourself."
Liquid gathers in the corners of the eyes.
That silent evening - "yes,"
a touch of her soft hand.
And tired legs roamed through a long day.
Two or three promises were counted
at day's end, the last rays of the sun faded.
Dusk creepily settles in dreamy eyes.
Thunder shudders my fragmented thoughts.
The curtain laps slothfully in a mild wind.
Raindrops drizzle, pattering outside -
fresh pink petals stare from the green lawn.
Mar 9
Mar 9, 2026 at 1:45 AM UTC
Your womanly grace touched even heaven’s face,
and I loved you at that first, sudden sight.
I watched your wondering eyes in quiet hours,
in slothful time, devotion shaped the soul.
In loving you, I came to know your stanch faith,
and my wandering heart entwined with your sacred spirit.
At each day’s end, twilight pressed upon my chest,
and my heart trembled at the thought of leaving you.
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 11:22 AM UTC
O sweet, love no more than this,
for love does not stay forever;
as the sun sinks down at twilight,
and dusk veils the silent world.
O sweet, love no more than this,
for love fades with the breath of being,
as fire softens into smoke
and climbs the quiet stairs of heaven.
Mar 1
Mar 1, 2026 at 6:05 AM UTC
When my stagnant time stretched like a vast desert,
The clouds forgot how to descend and gift rain.
You showered a cool drop into my lonely summer days;
a single droplet from you made my existence heaven.
When life seemed to be ending—though the end was still far—
I stood quiet and immobile beneath the vast sky
and blamed the distant stars for shining so far away.
You brought a cool wind to a parched, heavy day.
Feb 28
Feb 28, 2026 at 1:28 AM UTC
If life had walked the path of the halal, we wouldn't be so ruined.
If we hadn't placed love above the Divine, we wouldn't be so humiliated.
We always rebel against the traditions of faith —
Had we ever rebelled against false customs, we wouldn't be so deprived of truth.
~Shahaab (Saak)
Jul 30, 2025
Jul 30, 2025 at 3:56 PM UTC
Today I saw brown mountain peaks touching the sky and what a grand sight it was,
As I was humbled by the silence of greatness that doesn't need to shout.
As I was mystified by the rolling valleys beneath.
The mountains, so eerily vast and huge made me feel nervous about my silly human apprehensions.
Time has tested the fate of these mountains, their peaks still don't bend to anyone.
An eagle flew between these great walls, as if taking a casual evening stroll.
I wonder if the bird admires the beauty in the stillness of these earthly structures.
I wish I could be the eagle, flying as high as the top of the hills, as if conversing and chatting with them.
The mountains are obviously not made of smooth rocks and unmarked skin,
Their surface and body have stories to tell.
If you notice, there are rocks on the mountain chest making a pattern just like ocean waves, creating a painting upon a painting of God.
The limestone that flows so easily on the back of the mountain, like beautiful hair let down.
And the curves on top, the bends on its peak,
The mountain is not a triangle.
It's a woman sleeping peacefully,
Do not disturb her,
For she is She is mother Nature...
She embodies the mountain spirit and has great power.
Do not disturb her,
For she is our mother Earth.
Soon, light gets stolen from the blue skies
As stars come to their job shift, it's now their time to shine.
When the moon rises behind the mountain peaks, the cosmic body feels smaller than the hills.
It becomes the cherry on top of the cake,
It becomes the eye of the mountain.
As the hills breathe and rest,
The soil beneath ever shifting and changing.
The mountains have been crafted over a thousand of years through storms and rain and dust and water.
A thousand years after I die, the mountains will still be there.
Brown peaks touching the sky,
Undefeated and unconquered.
And I will be the eagle flying between the mountain peaks.
Nov 12, 2024
Nov 12, 2024 at 8:56 AM UTC
_Empty:_ as the word meaning a
glass bottle in Africa.
I'd have my fill;
to the brim of life's expectations.
Expected of the plenty from the very
little I have given.
Life is that empty,
as many are trying at their fill.
On the straight and narrow, of where
it sits.
_Hoping it won't spill._
How tall do you measure your glass
view of life?
Fragile are the moments; tapping on
the taps of glass.
_Hoping it won't crack._
This bottle is what I make of it's fill;
Am I overburdened, or overflowing,
with the cares of the world, or whether
the Holy Spirit?
A question, only with the answer from
within; and as I ask from Him.
Feb 27, 2022
Feb 27, 2022 at 6:53 AM UTC
We live under tears,
of a spirit' paradise,
in the force of darkness,
a cloud above of all fears,
tiny thoughts in history,
the past changed by present,
as it decides the futures to reside.
We are the dreams undreamed,
believers of things unseen,
great beings in our spirit,
only trapped in earthy skins,
Fallen short at our birth,
a black vein of sins,
but we're all redeemed.
We are strangers of this world,
visitors into it' reigns,
footsteps for children that follow,
_As we walk in the todays;_
_for all our young,_
_to have a better tomorrow._
_As we are more than skins,_
_bones, hearts, and brains;_
_in spirit, we are more._
_As within soul,_
_there's a vigour of joyous growth,_
_though we feel less in this world,_
_In the realms far ahead,_
_we're all beings of endless more._
Dec 10, 2021
Dec 10, 2021 at 9:22 AM UTC
*heres your chance to become a supreme being
a dot in a circle
the point of imminent transcendence
the glitter of endless seas
a secure position
and a good job if you can get it
first assignment
develop a sense of place
hollow yourself out
to situate your creation
mix the ethers up
within your infinity of self
like witches mix a cauldron
good work*
GOD
HOLY HOLY HOLY
*now with the spirituous mist
populate your creation
from the astral*
i like to be called
YAHWEH
okay
GOD
*lets not get stuck
you can easily afford
not to be so small minded
whats with caring what your called
you and your multiple
titular names
wow
lots a pretty beings
dreamboats i'd say
like a bunch of colored balloons
pro-creative
mmmmm
very good so far
i really appreciate that part*
HOLY HOLY HOLY
next assignment
POWER OVER NATURE
*figure out a way
to sustain and perpetuate your creatures*
I AM WHO I AM
*what ever you say
can we move on now?
whats with all the
disease
mental problems
fear
hostility
and famine?
be a good*
GOD
*for gods sake
and amp up the happiness please
they are like bunch of sick cats down there*
NOT A LEAF FALLS WITHOUT MY WILL
ooooo noooooo !!!!!
*there not suppose to **** and eat each other
what the **** are you thinking
are you stupid*
OH HOLY ONE
THE UNKNOWN and THE UNKNOWABLE
*stop with the smog of hell
your creatures live in terror
living only to be destroyed
go sit in the corner
facing the wall
yes
the dunce cap too
your a bad*
GOD
*a *****
we will have to call your parents
for retribution*
HOLY HOLY HOLY
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 12:28 PM UTC
Weakness
My hallways are flooded.
My pools leads straight into the earths crust.
I have a reindeer, his name?
Magnus
Keeper of perspective, keeper of my most tender emotions
I sink into myself, understanding the functionalities of this metaphorical thing I have created.
A God in the realm of my subconscious
Magnus, I hope this temple will hold.
Magnus, someday I'll **** you.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC
I feel you crawling on my skin like a million germs,
quietly trying to **** me out of sight and sound.
Years long gone you say I'm out of your head,
I'm just not in your present our mental hookup's not dead.
I'm wired like a machine, working, and pacing, and blowing off steam.
You say I killed hope, but she's alive and well.
She's what keeps me afloat.
Though I stilI long for your presence, and the way you counted on me,
but look at you, you're like ******** Nanny McFee;
You stay while I need you, and when I want you, you leave.
So I'll leave you with this.
Alert self protection,
fend of anythang that may hinder your personal development.
Satisfy your needs undisturbed,
devote yourself, and recharge.
Crisis proof, existential survival,
create your stable solid base for life to thrive.
Important sense of well being is joyful fulfillment of desire.
Take the earthy thoughts I left you and start a fire.
Vigorous effort.
Be inspired, allow yourself to give your all
and resolutely fend off injustice and make it fall.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 2:22 PM UTC
Books. What are books?
What purposes do they serve?
Are they just there for their appealing looks? Or, do they serve a more significant purpose?
If a book could talk, what would it say?
If a book could walk, where would it go? and what would it do?
If a book could write a book, what would it be about? And more importantly what would it contain?...
If books weren't books, what would they be?
They would be the unknown thief.
(the last part is about the notion of how, ' books give you knowledge' and it's basically saying if there weren't books...)
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 3:55 AM UTC
In my sense able window,
a fairy autumn is playing
gentle breeze is flowing on the baby coconut leafs
who is thundering me from a distant sky?
my heart is vibrating alone,
the unknown misty again
I am seeking a way to move away,
none can't hold me in their hand
and I hare the angles are calling me
and playing their divine song -
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 2:32 PM UTC
Oh my God! I could not judge your game
The event is-
being-
will be-
Why the sun rose, set and the moon shine?
Are all known to you!
You float me on tears,
sit him on a branch of a tree,
babies sleep on her mother's arm-
birds fly and sing melancholy song-
thy no sorrow except happiness-
Is the game you play with dude?
If all of your will!
Why counts curse and bless?
Is it obligatory to breed heaven and hell?
He who wit you,
his mind is without fear,
he had been died before he died,
but he could not judge your game at all!
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 8:07 AM UTC
This day you left me
And spring lost its flower forever
At early spring, young called never
Again in a low silent day,
I heard the crisping of a lost grasshopper
In a black and white glow dream
Far away from the silky moon sprung
There birds feathers were oping with high delicate
Though Pale petals were losing their pixel with pleasant
But the high divine melody colored the deep purple
Then another high spring fallen to light purple
Yellow flowers bloom on her pale face again
At Night mild murmur cools the heart of the passionate
And the Sunflower rises on the first shines of sun
Melts with a dream after a long winter washed
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 5:22 AM UTC
There once was a poet
who was very much alive
he'd write everyday
sometimes late into the night
his poetry was his craft
a never ending ascent into madness
a read of his work
was a trip into darkness
He was fascinated by death
by how simple it was
he imagined the light being as bright
as the white of a dove
he loved rhyming tricks
how they'd guide a reader
along a waterfall of words
the more the steeper
but he wasn't famous
he wasn't beloved
this tore him apart
and led him to what?
no i didn't hear that
a modern day Van Gogh
only 25
too young for him to go
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC