She lived safe and sound without showing up even a hair
Donning in the body, are the flesh and bone Earth's own?
She didn't want to take that with a pinch of salt,
Fathima, the first spiritual woman
rather touched down on earth with her own!
Lived in Makkah and Madina a secret wonder
No trained eyes nor born savvy nature could uncover!
The earth, hand on the heart, never did it air,
a name she lovely held close to her chest
The mass didn't know time and again
she approached mathematically but stuck
360 degrees away behind Fathima
lived in rigid encryption!
The earth turned her mighty math most fluid
threw her mammoth weight zeroing in thin and thick
only gently as 0 and 1 rubbing over this encrypted wrap-
happened to be on her own flower bud!
Closer she pressed to propel into an opening code
revealed a solid hub, the Moon shines on her forehead,
it's on her grip but into a deep base she couldn't bottom in.
It's more airy, a pure stack of rhythms, nightingale sings,
blossoming fragrance, melodious whisper through the air
singing birds returns “This way” on every new day,
ever more time and space angle in golden spiral
in this lively one-line circle home, but not yet done
one is myriad more spiral in circle, songs in fragrance
and golden ratio dance in blossoming flower.
So revealing the code a dream never been realised
Living Fathima thus behind her intact veil showed up!
Oh more, the sun too teamed up
raising the candle from the east to the west
Even went to the length in the memory lane,
striving to remember her pristine mirror
that Fathima only once exposed
long before the heaven was born!
But none could draw a sketch of it
not in the dawn cracking fast light
nor in the mid-summer's full moonlight.
The sun went on playing chiaroscuro,
the earth's beans split,
stars leapt out off her wonder bags
on the meadows and beyond the rainbow’s end.
Yet with their enduring painting in light and dark
let alone connecting the dots they couldn't bag
her footprint even at her death.
A millennium and half has passed masses still wish
spotting her grave is seeing the earth painting the wind.
Not a firefly nor a butterfly in Medina knew it where
yet a name generation after generation is still a buzz!
Sayeedatun Nessa, the feminine Queen in Paradise,
Fathima shifted the feminine mystique from Earth
enwrapped it back into heaven veiled and intact
the wonder is now paradise’s gold dust!
