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!

i am lonely in a
body that has wasted
my skin to paper stretched
against collar bones and
my ribcage won't stop
trembling

i am isolated in a
body which hyperventilates
when it nears all things
sweet or salty or sour
or good because the weight
wrestling in the pit of my
stomach suffocates me

i am alone in a body
that aches for untouching,
unbruised skin and hair so
thick it'll never fall again but
it cannot give that to me any
longer because that would
mean i cannot be sick

i am in a body
that refuses to love me back

The now has left my body.
My mind is emptying
Of all thought of today.
The moment is receding;
I feel my feet lifting
My arms are floating
As if in a pool of light
Like water, buoying me
With untouching caresses
Lofting to evanescence
And I know it is fine
This feeling of pleasance
Of no worries in me
No hurrying to be done
Nowhere I have to be
No reason to run.

I am centered in this,
A feeling of completeness;
Of needing nothing else,
A spiritual sweetness,
A relaxing kind of comfort
Surrounds and enfolds
By singing unheard songs
Deep into my very soul.
I am happy here, smiling,
Somewhere in the self
Where not even I can see,
That I am someone else.
I am someone loving
And kind and caring.
I love this feeling so
I wish I were sharing
The sense of a world
Where everything is right
And everyone is floating
In the same golden light.

o how easily your lips become me,
the burning crimp
of urging kiss,

to depart myself
and wander amongst
thy body holy and vile ridiculous winsome trivial spectacular,

(arm and thigh)
whose sweep and gait is love
made ready for tongue
to impart slowly tenacious,

whose comely hair is course tender difficulty splendrous,

whose moments are singeing exactly innumerably few
(and never enough)


who i have longed for in deepest valleys of untouching cruelty
(to cup thy whole mouth
in my mouth,
to carry it forward
thy kiss a burning standard

into inkset darkest darkness of night



that i might walk without stumbling;





that i might see           )

Meet here the open future shows up
at the earth's hub-moon's anew rallying
to the untouching-sea the Indian subcontinent's
corner to the ancient wind!

Words don't do any justice
to the way I feel.
I could be so detailed
and so raw,
but it would still come out vague and untouching.

Words don't do any justice
to a broken heart.
Time is the enemy
that will help heal it,
so your left with fragmented poems
trying to describe how it felt
when you let go...
all you come up with is nothing.

Words don't do any justice
to cure a disease.
It will eat at her everyday
until she is nothing left
but white lips and a pale face-
a number to a growing list.
You'll only be able to say you love her,
but the words won't cure the disaster
that was created in her departure.

Words can only do justice
when it's over.
When the tears have crumbled the paper.
When the edges are curled
from twirling the ends waiting for
the perfect thing to say.

Words are beautiful and real.
Words are hard and often misunderstood.

It took a moment
but none too many
to realize
these words don't carry weight
everything said
all that's been written
hang in the air
most leave untouched and untouching
some scarred and scarring
but by daybreak
after they've found the gaps in minds
to nest and fester

these words leave no trace
and break all the same

It is impossible not to sense the closeness
each time I close my eyes

Would that be closer than skins untouching ?

The gap: causing the desireless stress of presence

of the other
because of itself

My mind  
Discloses
****

For what
We celebrate is
a precision of love
made of
our wordless waves
that subtly replaces
and sculpts my
gross lines
to their
primordial

We are transparent
space casts its chassis
Made of us
Formats
our deserted shells

as we fuse
to fit in things
Color of sound
now as big as
its encapsulating hall
We are time only
to heal

Maybe I take comfort in the idea
That a straight line upon an infinite plane
would eventually
Pierce these flat layers of cosmic malarkey
Some black hole could speed us
Out of range of our guilty hearts
Our minds could come to rest
In a cove with a stellar view

Quiet

Where time gently laps at the shallow shores
And my fear of deeper troubles includes not our demise

Just our hands gently never untouching

Sitting on the border wall
and looking at the moon.
Back-and-forth,
Back-and-forth
China breaks in my dry eyes.

Clay into vitrified
ceramic asks for emigration
to the sea for final immersion,
to meet the creator.

I look for your face
in water, that haunts me
day and night. Would you ever
fill up the colors in the map of my pain?

More poems. How could you
stop them coming? My
every ache turns into a daffodil.

a fried ankle, densely aching at it
was it was as was being far from fair
time is a frank virtue, do all divine
shed to their torso, and sing frank virtue

love is far from answer, and (barriers
are far from far, and closer than hearts are)
so ache is heavenly, as air spreads to
ears and days that are far from here come here

early; like the bird the worm catches and
the abyss the doll covered up is a
round, circular basin for rye and red

barked trees are all nature has anymore
rest in dusty backs of the untouching

Soundless, voiceless howl.
Untouching, unstirring, unfound.
Smashing the air inside my lungs,
Catapulting dying oxygen crumbs.
Performing the gasping melody chime.
Drowning me in a pond of brine.

thank you for the soap on my plates
thank you for the soap on my plates
i am retracing my origins
no one
please follow me

i imagine a soft picture
and lay down on that sweet pillow
this could be a woman and this could be a man
or this could be a woman and a woman
or this could be a man and man
or they could be nothing
keep walking further from home
with the city resounding in their ears

they might be nearly untouching
not knowing what lies ahead of their feet
in the winter eve and at the halt of nature

or they might be one person
that does not know how completeness manifests itself
instead looks for muchness

thank you for the stumbling in my living room
thank you for the stumbling in my living room
next time i will travel a lot further
cold water the feelings warm on my wrist

Every night you become
an insect, crawl into
the bed and chew the lips of unknown,
listening to the music
of flowing blood.

Outside the slogans―
tear at you. It was a wound
night, the words, untouching the space,
go― straight into the echos,
without any halo.

So where did you sink in
defiant orange of the sea,
while turning back from your designed
path? Another terrorist's sexism
was on play?

There were no barnacles, no
frog mimicry. I silent walk into
the arena to find the length of
the caravan.

In-between the spaces
body moves
untouching you.

A poem crashes
on the tongue. You
will not confess.

The wordless thoughts
swim like swans
noiselessly.

Unreaching the abode,
you will invent a god
for a knifed boat.

The sea is turbulent,
you will still sail,
not to reach anywhere.

Becoming tainted without
a stain, seeing
you in dark, untouching.

Why do you draw
a circle around you- keeping
out the center?

Voicelessly,
a howling call- per
mistake, disturbs the slumber.
Moon had yet to leave.

The grace of crying
wordlessly. Buddha sleeps
again on side, through
the vacant mind. Partial amnesia?

The gift of the angles
against the dots. I was
left with hyphens only.

Longer rivers run to the sound
where the commerce plays out
its jangling game.

When once we were mountains,
no more than bare bluffs now,
each jutting a finger of mudflats
untrod and untouching for the tide
has turned once more, lifting the drift
and carrying our past verdant
intrepid days into the sea,
upon the waves, to be spat
onto another shore strange
with blunt shell, burnt pebbles,
and the neverminds of the locals.

But perhaps it is in our nature to weather,
to erode, to spill our alluvial fans
to any passing angler who'll listen,
perhaps the boulders we tumbled
to our own demise are no more,
no more than jagged or smooth grains,
packed, pounded, arranged
for the foot of a marveling toddler
on her first time at the shore.

We will talk about
life and death, standing on
the track in dark.

*

Do not reach anywhere
untouching spots on hands
where sparks kindle.

*

Do you want to wash
out your sins, kissing the
black rocks of moon?

Time has no time.
I cannot find myself in skyless
story of many stops.

A bohemian wants
to become Buddha without
sitting under the Bo tree.

You were touched
untouching me, when I
adored the water of deep.