Every star across the seven skies
wishes to kiss it is a gold dust.

Not to mention the Moon in the centre
waning and waxing in the open and in secret
keeps unleashing longing to rub
this non-sublunary piece on its forehead.

She knows only then the rough seas beneath
her will calm down in the soft raining moonlight
rubbing off such a lucky blossomed forehead.

Oh, if only scarcely they could ever see it
the galaxies since their inceptions longing for it.
The bliss of the eyes tucked away from the scene
Paradise lies beneath the mother’s feet!

The mother is fast is for all and is down to earth
She, the mother Fathima descended down
from up above the heaven that pivotal frontier
only all the prophets’ Prophet has seen.
Then was no Adam nor Eve or Jibreel!

Paradise finds its core with its resonant lore
in the shadow of the original feminine Fathima
the immortal hotspot the original matter explored.
Paradise lived and breathe beneath her
but she touched down at the heart of the earth
without stepping or touching on paradise
only to give away her stake to others!
No land she would take on her way back indeed
Not in her name, know where Fathima’s grave is?

The body is for life but only to die
then there is an exception not all is linear
there is a feminine rose after the death
for her no more death on Earth!
She was there before the first matter
it was in the making before her eyes.
The first and foremost luminary feminine
moved on heartily panning flawless flow
aligning into the finest angle of the first matter.
Across the nadir to the zenith
Fathima eyes on upon it as it comes to be
shaping and forming art of miracle:
One true masterpiece without a mirror!

Arts on the go Fathima moves on
praise be to the Lord she being made to measure
mathematically perfect by birth the pi is her!
(The pi tends to circle the blank space within is feminine
while the circumference of the circle is masculine)
She can budge equally in the shadow
in patternless pi decimals and in the open,
in integer and into a whole full number!

Hops up her first step she looks for ‘the all’
the complete whole the absolute one Allah.
Time and again she steps up but finds no floor
her measured step by default lays on 360-degree circles
and scans everything at the first go still finds no bottom!

The first luminary masculine peace be upon him
first looks in the open she takes the veiled angle.
Through the evermore pi decimal micro-hole
she looks on and witnesses the first matter a water drop
surfaces up without a base without a roof on top!
It follows through truly the copy of the original
softly springing around the serene water paints  
of all the maters to be created from this first drop.
Fathima looks at it and veils withdraws her reflection.
Little chip bottomless deep into the finest nature
Fathima instills countless Boolean gates making
access to her beyond digital and AI and conditional.

The sky hasn't yet forgot that follows suit
first, a star was born stepping in Fathima’s shoe.
It tried so did the full set of the galaxy only to disperse
into a profound constellation never finds the bottom.
Amidst this water circle floats the first soil
Allah called it His house that He first created from it.
Every planetary orb pilgrimage around it in the core
named the Ka’abah up to the heart of the earth it rose.

In the pre-designed world following the first masculine
Fathima the first feminine pilgrimaged around it
not in the open but strictly in the patternless pi veil.

Nature is never uneven on the hand of the uneven pi
every little fraction a small decimal counts connects to the dot showing and without showing a pattern
long live, long live the digital charisma is on the rise!

The sun rises and retraces back in the middle lane,
the black box scores at the end of the day it's only a dark chart!
The Moon is yet to moon over an unturned sublunary-dip
It pulls all, the mighty sea that the earth can't
and syncs into the feminine water cycle but save only one
with Fathima floating out of the box it can’t link up!

Like millions, ever wonder where Fathima’s grave is?
The earth strived too to the death bite to print her footprint!

The road behind bares us a backdrop, too many nights find us fractured in our thoughts and the dreamers we once were are far from the two people who stand today.

We're broken, mere splinters of our shipwreck past, driftwood on a shore that drowns every time the ocean breathes.
The path is littered with slaughtered dreams that didn't bleed.

As time and tide wait for no man shall we find it a tragic scene?
simply erased with the sunsets demise?
No one gets away without a scar and mine speak a road map to chaos
and a found hello to you.

Mine own scars are fingertips
gouged into the sand and faded
but salted by tears of the ocean, inerasable by the tide.
A soul washed up upon the shore, a road map etched delicately into fine bones.
You can trace where I'd been before. All roads lead to your hello.

In broken lines and have uttered phrases and one too many empty night.
Backdrop of chaos does paint in the darkest colors you could ever imagine .

How does it gets so flawed by our own creations and vices my dear?
Does it still ring ever so true?

The bell rings true whispering distant voices
Empty nights are just bottles lined up as dead soldiers
We contemplated our own truths and fell victim to our own vices
The backdrop is black, no colour beneath skin.
Honestly? Where does our downfall begin?

Two ships underneath the nightscape past the spark once understood the flame and nothing more .
In empty alleys, like cats to prowl, we find our moments, and then bury our thoughts to lay for no others to see.

half written papers and half heard conversation the keys of the piano haunt the silence as myself shadows that still remain.

Nothing is but a thought and those are like dead flowers laid to waste a reflection of far better times

The night crawls to meet the day as it has so many times before.

The thought of the minds bottle lay empty upon the table.
A fond farewell is but a sugar coated goodbye.
And I seldom have minced my words to mask their sting.

The page forever bleeds.

Pages that lay scattered on a ***** floor
Bleeding ink into cracks
that will forever more
hide the spirit of our souls.

I like everything about you
From the way you look
To the way you talk
But if you don't
Then it is okay to say no
I won't mind being alone
As long as it's what you prefer
True love isn't jealousy
Of who you meet instead of me
True love is acceptance
Of the way you want to live
And if that way doesn't include me
I don't mind
As long as you're happy and free