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Shofi Ahmed Jul 2018
On the edge, the living earth
dared to mimic Queen Fathima's worth,
the Queen of Heaven's grace and poise,
her footsteps, a blessed path of choice.
This way bedewed with divine light,
a numinous destination of sight,
graced by thousands of prophets of God,
a sacred path that all should trod.

In Allah's name, she descended,
on the Night of Ascension, her path transcended.
from the Night of Measures, she came,
her frame, heaven's dark matter, a mystery untamed.
A divine dot in terra incognita,
a fondly-folded bud where time doth bloom.
If one can see up to where it rose,
Paradise sways towards this uncharted way
the only guide, oft is a glimpse of Queen Fathima's eye!

The only asymmetrical golden ratio,
steps forth amidst the symmetrical prophet flock.
The earth makes way for her in awe,
as she moves in sequence with the golden lock.
Cloaked in mystery, she reveals
her unique, divine relation to the divine.
Makes measured moves at the forefront,
shining the light ever drawing closure to God.

She is so pretty and classy, a paragon of art,
a sunrise amidst the eternal night.
Her beauty is a burning fire in her shadow,
she is 'Zahra,' pure light, a luminary dynamo.
The only woman in heaven and earth with no shadow!

The great flock of women mirrors the earth,
following each atom on that angled girth,
aligned perfectly under the waxing full moon's worth.
As they approach the behemoth's might,
atoms beneath their skin explode in their finest sway,
and beneath Fathima's feet, vibrations take flight.

The ocean billows up, floating with the clouds,
Like choreographed dewdrops hanging low on the rose,
Ready to shower down on that hot spot like honey-drops.

Even the Moon on the horizon follows suit,
Ah, the lunar punter rows down, loves to sip in a drop.
the sleeping beauty wakes amidst the moonlit night,
silver dances in her eyes on every star in sight,
as the Moon sails down from its celestial height.
The seven seas sing out in the dark,
bubbling with exuberant fireflies' spark,
who gleefully rock the moonlit boat,
towards the cup of that pretty little drop.

Poetry in motion, the sea on the ground
a beauty reflected in the Moon on high
the storylines jump and dance around.
Painting the colors of the winds in the sky
over the shady grove, the rhythm goes on
rains down from the sky on that sweet spot
singing the sweetest of all title songs.

Never before was a woman a prophet of God,
but for the primitive woman, the leading lady,
the sharpest cut above the rest, the leader of the pack.
Sayeedatun Nessa, Queen Fathima,
Heaven holds no secrets, always an open mirror!

Secret is Fathima touched the bottom of the earth first
it's in her elements a pure unique one otherworldly love
the womankind scores that only entering paradise!
"There is no night, only déjà vu moonlight
the pious homemakers, these veiled tuberoses,
were hidden gems to the sublunary fireflies
who will be open moons in heaven's secret skies."
The Huris gaze upon mesmerizing beauty,
but their eyes turn to the real McCoy:
the women in paradise!

The universe debuts a primitive water dew,
Big Bang, soon Fathima drops in it her two hairs duo
enkindles the inner dark energy in the dark matter mole.
Absolutely pure, nature wakes up get the building rock
nothing like it never seen before, treasures in Earth's core.

The Queen's first impression hooks on
the motionless earth in the dew makes the first move
polished golden spiral is in bloom expanding ever more
the last thing the sun can't do can't take its eyes off
after the Big Bang big fireworks still (Ratqan) a black mole
thicker than the black moon, gravitates the cosmos! 

Walking in the dark ahead of the sun and the moonlight
one step up on that shady way the Queen cemented on,
perfectly circle pi-locks, the earth takes a Ma pause.
Until God willing Fathima's locks shall finally bottom in  
the long haul of time squeezing out paradise upside for good,
the heavenly Queen shines the light in the secret end of God!

The planetary ebb and flow are on the way heaven
the planet earth is the only steppingstone.
No matter how many times they try on
there will still be an unturned stone.
Until the very one, the original woman,
the Queen Fathima steps on.

Dots connect in her presence
the nadir and the zenith perfectly intersect
once for all that shall mingle in her perfect circle
without a labyrinth gap in the whole
making ‘As above, so below’ pure Scientia scenario.

Where the Queen stands on
heaven will open its grand door!
No more reverse engineering the original
God willing Fathima will step on
on the last turned stone.
From the very one greatest woman
paradise starts from there on
from beneath the mother’s foot!

She is so pretty and classy, a paragon of art,
a sunrise amidst the eternal night.
Her beauty is a burning fire in her shadow,
she is 'Zahra,' pure light, a luminary dynamo.
The only woman in heaven and earth with no shadow!

The great women flock mirror 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 the otherworldly Fathima’s feet!

The ocean billows up floats with the clouds
like choreographed dew droops hanging low on the rose
just to shower down on that hot spot like honey drops.

Even the Moon on the horizon follows suit
ah, the lunar punter rows down loves to sip in a drop.
The sleeping beauty wakes up amidst the moonlight
silver dances eye on every star in the night
the Moon is sailing 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 that 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
for the primitive woman the leading lady
the acute cut above the rest, the leader of the pack.
'Sayeedatun Nessa' Queen Fathima
heaven is no secret always an open mirror!
Secret is Fathima touched the bottom of the earth first
it's in her elements a pure unique one otherworldly love
the womankind scores that only entering paradise!
There is no night only Deja vu moonlight
the pious homemakers these veiled tuberoses
were the hidden gems to the sublunary fireflies
shall be the open moons in the heaven's secret skies!
Huris look on mesmerising beautiful
eyes on the real McCoy the woman in paradise!

The universe debuts a primitive water dew,
Big Bang, soon Fathima drops in it her two hairs duo
enkindles the inner dark energy in the dark matter mole.
Absolutely pure, nature wakes up get the building rock
nothing like it never seen before, treasures in Earth's core.
The Queen's first impression hooks on
the motionless earth in the dew makes the first move
polished golden spiral is in bloom expanding ever more
the last thing the sun can't do can't take its eyes off
after the Big Bang big fireworks still (Ratqan) a black mole
thicker than the black moon, gravitates the cosmos! 

Walking in the dark ahead of the sun and the moonlight
one step up on that shady way the Queen cemented on,
perfectly circle pi-locks, the earth takes a Ma pause.
Until God willing Fathima's locks shall finally bottom in  
the long haul of time squeezing out paradise upside for good,
the heavenly Queen shines the light in the secret end of God!

The planetary ebb and flow are on the way heaven
the planet earth is the only steppingstone.
No matter how many times they try on
there will still be an unturned stone.
Until the very one, the original woman,
the Queen Fathima steps on.

Dots connect in her presence
the nadir and the zenith perfectly intersect
once for all that shall mingle in her perfect circle
without a labyrinth gap in the whole
making ‘As above, so below’ pure Scientia scenario.

Where the Queen stands on
heaven will open its grand door!
No more reverse engineering the original
God willing Fathima will step on
on the last turned stone.
From the very one greatest woman
paradise starts from there on
from beneath the mother’s foot!
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2018
It’s on everyone's eyeline
the flying clouds spill the treasure sea
raining down on this perfectly placed mural.

The Queen of Sheba tiptoes on this way
King Solomon keeps an ear on the ground
only to find seas of silent blooms already
musing dipping in the sun kissed dews
on gently tilted roses that won’t drop down
not from this 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 a acute high
evermore hopeful to scale high aspiring
to the faraway awaiting heaven’s pool.
There the spotlight won’t move  
to the north or south nor up or down until
Queen Fathima the Queen of Heaven steps on
spot on on the ‘as above so below’ *****.

There the newly resurrected earth will be primed
its minted atom’s vibration will hit out of the park
for the first time rising atop the navel high.
Perfectly wrap atom’s circle finally turns on,
the stepping stone one that has no pi decimal hole.  
Pure scientia on the door of paradise shall hang on
lo the numerically perfect Queen Fathima to step on!

God willing she will work in beauty
the most sought after perfect works of art,
the lost masterpiece not in translation
but in the pi decimal hole in earthly deep
lo the gleaning sleeping beauty peeps
trailing the role model Queen.

Fathima the first woman entering paradise  
walks the walk perfect straight numerically precise.
Like she knew back from the earth
the murals ahead hanging on the paradise wall
mathematically exact!
Mirrors of imaginations anew wonders on heaven’s way
in the murals at the golden section on the navel high.

She zoom passes the ever spinning atom's perfect span
cemented tangent at the entrance of paradise.  
Yet leaves no foot print like she never did
on sublunary earth, new ponder in the old classic eyes,
oh pi still irrational, wonder in measured navel high!
While writing this poem I had a feeling that the navel stands in the golden ratio section. Then after penning the poem when I checked I found this thesis: 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)".
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2018
A sprinkle of blue sparkle
off the lapis lazuli sky.
A throw of stars
from the full moon night.
We will take in abundance
while rowing the waves
once in the River Nile.

Hear! The crave of oars
breaching the shore.
Reaching out and close
to the pyramid foundation.
That’s scientia is pure rigid
yet so open loose.
One dozen milky ways
can hover in rhythm
over this stony knot!

That doesn’t mean
the Mintaka stars will give
up their shares at all
They will sit on the top.
Without the pyramid moving
a step from the true north.

Between this relative sublunary
and over the moon mural
if and when one spaces up.
The silent Moon takes a pause
humming the prehistoric lullabies.
With a patch of the blue sky
and a starry sprinkle from the night.  
Maybe then we will take a break in
behind the closed doors of the great pyramid!
A poem from my upcoming book Qun: Love is Above Reason
Jade Mikaila Dec 2015
Festooned with the heraldry of doom,
a gilded, wainscoted room,
whose occupants drink ale in an oozing swarm
while harpers harp a solemn tune.

The lioness gives obeisance to the new king
with an offering
of suffering,
and warm droplets of water...
Two fates inseparably soldered
by misfortune,
on this, the longest night
then toward the light
and not beyond.

Again, backwards, repetition, turning.
A yule tide with no pull
from the heavenly orb, burning.
serpentinium Sep 2019
i think of those lab rats
living their lives
blissfully in cages
hand-fed fruit-loops
and poison

they’re happy
says the veterinarian
scribbling notes on a clipboard
while the rats drink sugar
water and run on wheels

fate is not kind to lab rats
their years are already so short
a drop in the bucket compared
to the well of time humans draw
from greedily

death is a shadow for humanity;
it is the thought gnawing on the bars
of our mind, the ghost of an animal
running endlessly on a wheel
that we placate with toys and treats

we call it housing enrichment
because even lab rats have a home
because we choose to personify everything
even the things we ****:
carbon monoxide, bloodletting, a severing of nerves

and when they breathe their last breath
we write in our journals that the animals were
sacrificed, not killed, not murdered
dying for a cause bigger than them
for science, for knowledge, for gods on sterile altars
sacrificing animals in science is a tetchy subject for most; even some scientists. i just don't want to forget the importance of a single life--that which we **** to help others survive. note: scientia potentia est translates to 'knowledge is power'
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2020
Queen Fathima the Queen of Heaven
she tones her rose-red colour
lending nature a cool spark.
Boom, that fires up big bang!  
So she shades her hue
puts on her black niqab
so in her shadow nature may flower.
Now the full-blown scientia nature
is beyond every hand’s touch
eyes on for her Queen everywhere!
Simon Monahan Nov 2017
O Knowledge! Thou, in vestments plain and white
Art deceptively appareled, for deep
Runs the well of thy treasures; human sight
Cannot fathom the depth of such wealth. Leap
Into her pasture, poor searcher! Her sheep
Are ne’er shepherded awry; you will find
Her embrace the true fortune of the mind.

O Knowledge! Vision to a brain born blind!
O Sweet sight intellectual! I’ll praise
Thee, who alone art so gracious, so kind
As to seek out poverty so to raise
Up the poor captive from the witless maze
With gifts abounding, though unseen. I’ll sing
Thee, who in false silence makes truth to ring!

O Knowledge! Do thou my petition grant,
And come, my pauperdom to richly bless,
Break up the noisesome dark with thy fair chant!
O consoling balm to ignorant stress,
Thy seal upon our anxious minds impress;
For when the glass of our wits seems filled up,
Thy divine outpouring deepens the cup.
Jo Nov 2013
“Why does the moon follow us?”
I asked my father
As we drove past beige houses
Mixing with white mailboxes.  
I couldn’t see his face from the back seat
But I knew he smiled when I heard him
Laugh and shake his head.
“Honey, she’s following you,”
He said, and I looked out the window
Smiling at my new friend.  
I was five.  

Now I know that without the sun
The moon is for the blind to see
And that it orbits the earth
Not me
And it doesn’t chase cars down southern highways
It sits lonely in space
Surrounded by nothing,

Scientia potential est
Is what I’ve been told
In my own tongue –
And I agree.
Never have I felt stronger
Than when I am bathed in light –
Filling my pumice skin and crater eyes
Until I can happily walk around
With as much certainty as a human can.
That hasn’t happened yet,
But the day’s coming
I know it.  

Yet I find myself wishing
The light immersing me
Was that of the moon,
Which cannot be,
How could it
When the moon only reflects
What the sun emits?
That knowledge doesn’t stop me from wishing
On the stars
I know to be dead ***** of plasma.

As a little girl I always slept with my window open
To let the dreams,
Made of fairies, roses, moonshine, and lullabies
Funnel through my ears
Into my empty head
In a stream of dust –  
I had nightmares sometimes,
But every shadow is a product of light,
And I was happy.
In time I went to school,
Now I know of dreams and nightmares
What they are made of, what they are not –
But I don’t have them,
And I sleep with my window shut now.  

Understanding is beautiful
Yet mystery is magical
And school takes magic and twists it
Until you’re ashamed for believing
In anything.  
I want to learn, I yearn for it
Like my head does air –
But why must I be mocked
For listening to the five year old on my shoulder
Who whispers fantastic dreams
I forget upon waking, blinking, thinking?

Thinking and dreaming
One heads, the other tails.
I’ve been taught to imagine
Is to forsake thinking,
That dreaming is the rot
Causing intellect to atrophy
So I stopped talking to the moon
Because by then I had been taught
It couldn’t hear me anyway.  










I want both,
And so I shall
Through fight, doubt –
The noose made of fear
Can be burned
And so it shall,
By the light of the moon,
My lovely friend,
Whom I know well,
And dream of often.  

I hope she chose
The right person to follow.
Education makes a return.
Shofi Ahmed Sep 2018
The planet earth is maybe
the material gold dust of all.
But it’s null on what it bases
purely standing on empty space!

Indeed there is no matter
at the base of the matter.
The nano atoms adherent to
natural scientia split and dance
the bottomline is pure blank!

Cosy slim and delicate atom
continues to deep down.
Stripping off to the quark
zooming in yet far inside
much more further down.

Goodness knows how comfy slim
will it be before it touches down
on to the universe smallest layer.
The matter, confined to natural codes,
in search of the smallest building block
turning to be a matter free off the matter.
Qualyxian Quest Feb 2023
Knowledge can be a burden
San Francisco Zen
Sometimes I wish I didn't know now
What I didn't know back then

But I do like learning
Even horrors have their place
Ah! those stars above
Humanity in space

                 Play the Ace!
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2018
talking optics with a cat:
**** me,
you inquire for a destination
point, and there's the cat:
darting-eyed not actually
"knowing"
                   where, but the fact
is: he's searching for a cuddling
place to sleep...
        hey! bed!
                        ******
scuttles away...
                       cats, dogs, children...
it's hardly a biology,
the nurture / nature argument...
petted a ******* monkey
and made a zoo?
      past media:
what the **** is fame?
                  there's a social
darwinism?
           what, the, jew who was broke
and was borrowing from others
has the current narrative?
      APPLAUSE!
            about talking optic with a cat,
first:
(a) placed an ice cube into her
vicinity,
   (b) poured a puddle of water
next to it,
(c) put the ice cube into the puddle
   (d) can a predator
make the comparison
to distrupt it's honing impetus
           on the basis of an aqua imperative?

      hard to allow petting and a study
of biology...
     there's are two strand of
darwinism: one of a biology
as freedom in the "abstract" form...
    but then there's the zoo...
      at want point does
biology and all studies
entwined, become zoology?

having studied chemistry i actually
romantise the proto-chemists:
i.e. alchemists...
         but i still rather bake a doughnut...
or rather: own a doughnut shop,
where i apply deep frying methods...
because the world "knew":
just around a corner,
   a picasso would become
a jack-in-a-box prop...

yes, but the aztecs are least
spectacular when compared
   to the egyptians...
one built a massive guillotine,
the other?
     known as death:
    a massive pile of rocks
rigid to fasten Δ
    (at any point, is there
a congestion narrative?)
mind you,
     the asians share the african trait
of a flattened:

                 nasal structure...
            whatever the melenin
argument...
                    return to the bronze age
tanning...
              and beaches
counter to looking at birch trees...
      why do i have a
protruding
        upper lateral catrilage,
that doesn't compensate the similarity
of asians and africans?

once compared to a rat,
  you start sniffing out "problems" like
a rat...

   don't know about Prometheus,
but the basis of myth to bypass
            history...
because what is time?
          upon this axis:
                                h
                         ­       i
                                s
                      ­          t o d a y
                                o
                             ­   r
                            m y t h o l o g y

scientia temporum...
                i just explained:
inanimate things congest the "bias"
for the basis of tomorrow...

because what is the modern myth
of revampt Prometheus?
        i.e. who stole
              Zeus' lightning bolt?
who brought down
               fire in the modern form
(revised) of electricity?

             the greeks are silents...
for all their worth,
    it's like watching a civilised
people acting as

then Bristol Pop says:
isambard kingdom brunel,
while i'm the one who wrote
an essay on
michael faraday
                 in primary school;

given this example...
   what, the, ****, is, pop?!

i mean pop: translated into trivia!
trivia shows!
             i haven't heard any
word on the matter of
the modern prometheus that was
                              michael faraday...

it's almost funny how
the people with the *******
surnames, have no nicknames,
but a holocaust signature.

i can almost sense
       an impeding desire
    to avert this modern cleptomania,
people are becoming more and
more "claustrophobic"...
           because history has
approached a zenith of hoarding...

and believe me when i say
that i've walked among many
      graveyards,
        and it would be great to achieve
a date-of-birth
         and a date-of-death
imprinted into stone,
     that wasn't a coroner's scribble
on papyrus.
Leave it to **** Jagger as ****** can't be trysted nor trusted. Regarding abortion: scientia scientiarum demands that BEFORE a baby can be dismembered for his crime he must be impartially tried, duly convicted and properly sentenced.”
   “Commit: naturalism and halogenated bumps and double-plus good experiences with the surround-sounds of surrounding kith & kin and friends & the familiar ones as cousins what kiss like Elvis keep the Laetrile beyond a dying man's tumorigenic reach plague we the prisoners of comely Virginia Leith. Peculiarly: what came natural to Elvis in 1977 was repellent to normal people in 1977. [It's the Era of Self-Respect Rock Show! Who's playing? Skid Row, Garbage, and Poison...]
Satsih Verma Sep 2018
Not smiling back
to moon, I will say tonight
after impacted by a
dark cloud.

The naked script without
the staples becomes
a big powerful thing.

Do you agree to scientia
of bare minimum faith?
It had turned into a troubleshooter.

Both true and false,
without empathy remain
disloyal to pain.

This was insignia
of love, between conflict
and understanding.

A winner stoops
to pick up the coin from dirt,
which was tossed by holocaust.
Lawrence Hall Aug 2021
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                All Quests Lead to Jerusalem

                                          Veritas et Scientia

                                     -University of San Diego

Some find infinity in sequences
Of numbers following in slow ascent
Elusive knowledge along a pilgrims’ track
Like rosaries that count ideas

Some find infinity in sequences
Of letters following in slow ascent
Elusive beauty along a pilgrims’ track
Like rosaries that count our dreams

And all of this is true, each quest is true
If the track is mapped to Jerusalem
Qualyxian Quest Oct 2020
From a psychiatric perspective
Religions are essentially
Socially acceptable forms
Of mental illness
Produced ultimately
By the terror of mortality

But from the religious perspective
Science itself (from scientia: to know)
And therefore psychiatry itself
Is an attempt to control
Not just the Unknown
But indeed the Unknowable

Both need each other
But neither one
Is completely correct

Or so it seems to me.

— The End —