always, I am so thankful and will be oblige under gratefulness to ' the most beneficent, the most merciful and the omnipotent, omniscient and omniwhere God, always and so to my wondrous, generous and affable gain friends who have always embraced, always acknowledged me through my thoughts, horizons, perceptions and poems.

Imagination is the power which can not be imagine, so friends keep imagining. My much loves and blessings to you all. have great n healthy day.

Imagination is the most beautiful and effective way to commune your creative thoughts. Imagination is the medium to reflect your perceived horizons, outlooks & attitudes. Imagination indeed reflect one's heart, divinity and degree of loves.
Imagination led us to live a life which is distinctly different and incredibly filled with awes and beauties. Imagination only keep honing and lead to perfection of our perceptions which only give rise to peace & soothings in every aspects.
Imagination takes oneself to ride through beyond horizons of mankind's calibres. hey it is Imagination which only teach us to dream better and wise. 

Imagination is the power which cannot be imagined.

Apparently a good listener is a wiser person which most people admire largely. I read once," a good listener can only be a good conversationist and good learner ". hence I do try to follow it to my extent. 
well my maa regularly teaches me something valued. today she taught me Owais always strive for Haq ( righteous deeds )

A shabby shack
standing on grim barren land
a little penniless girl dwell
with her toiling mother and lazy father

at early, join her mother reluctantly
kicking away her joys, schools
scrabbling into heaps of garbages on streets
her boozy cruel father
burn their hard earnings in his drinks

she worried nothing but execrated wintery night
her body tremble severely
face wear a stern scowl
eyes drown into tears
as chilly wintery night 
haunt into her sharp memory

use to spend nights by sitting
on icy floor spun into thin tattered sheet
in a open cramped, stinking room by the fire
crouch beside mother, slightly quivering
with rubbing hands, stewing by fire
gossiping, and compel naps
pass away their hard nights

                                                                -OWAIS

this poem " a wintery night " has genuinely concieved & devised by myself only, Hence please do not attempt to imitate for sale without my kind consent please do not.

live every day as the last day of your life ? never do ( even trifles ) which shall cause you to apologies with people ,

see not any muslim hate either christians or jews but yes they are being brain-washed by hardliners or fundamentalist clerics, they are being fostered, reared into false teachings of hatred by refferring as kafirs by them & old rival histories, with the help of taking complete advantages of their illiteracy and emotions pertaining to religionism.

this close teachings and instilling them spirits of hatred and rigidity thoughts since early age to muslim masses in under-developed and developing countries become so powerful and furious that on their maturity initiate sporadic or guerilla wars with western hemisphere countries. they are been so lucidly brain-washed, that nothing could halt them but to suicide in the false illusionary fight named Jehad.

I think by saying or accusing muslims as bad, is not wise and it will only widen miscreated gap of hatred. because majority of muslims are illiterate and poors and this is the ample oppurtunity to mean, malice and crafty hardliners who have gluts of moneys to attract them to pick up weapons against JEWS & CHRISTIANS since they are illiterate and unemployed moreover they are been constantly torturing emotionally and brain-washed since childhood.

I am Muslim and a true muslim, who have enough knowledges of Islam and Holy Quran, by which I have never read any such things which contemplate muslims to hate non-muslims, infact Islam is the religion of Peace, integraty, brotherhood and loves.

strolling deep into repose pleasing evening wearing dark sheet of night, with many mickle of stars glinting over brace my eyes and keep soothing my soul with far incredible imaginations. shrieking of insects, euphonie murmurings of birds, sharp rustle resounding into quietude of nature conjure me into fancies. a pure wave of bliss drown me with its bewitching quiescent. shallow stream flirting with its silent and babbling. sometime howling and sometime being sneaky. and sitting around pond with feet under water to muse over ' so much ' still a quietude and peaceful refreshing state to soul.

the caring, helping hands. the well-wishes, Blessings and emracement of others
the ONENESS, yes we are all ONE. 

Into quiescent state, whilst endeavoring to ponder meditatively at length is conducive to my creative thoughts. it is quite hard for oneself to flood with creative ideas. one need to toil for it with patience. the best way to pour down your creativity is just scrawl them onto pieces of paper whenever they light up into your imaginations or memories because at different times and at different places you get to conjure with different, varied and unlike ideas, maybe out them an ingenuity thoughts occur or by joining them all make any much prolific sense.
I have generally tried by joining my written thoughts at different times makes quite sense. see sometime I keep reflecting my muse for hours but could not collect and sometime I have cocieved a full, meaningful poem within half an hour or one hour.

I find this bivouc life itself an art created by Allah. Do not you see everything in life is temporary, darkness of the night or the brighter day. even sunrise and so sunset is temporary. hey friends think meditatively over this temporary life which is prone to inevitable death.

located a small village
on the fringe of the plateau
dwell a shaggy versatile shephard
who is good at flute, bleat.

on an adventurous hike
extravagant beauteos girly onemorning,
wabbling through rough trails ;
melodies of singing flute impelled her
to scour the wood ;
utterly engross in playing on flute
a shephard along his flock ,
bewitch music resonant around lavishly.

of his flute singing became she amorist
entice to attend furtively
decided she to have talks oneday
seeing her shivered He severely
with bade utter she - you are fabulous
reluctantly remained silent he
kicking feign repulsive
keep gnawing him, her presence
as she belong to priveleged noble family
himself a drudging shephard
in humble tone he utter to girl
to walk away but
she demand to listen his flute
her sweetly crave and heavenly beauty 
urge him to agree.
 
enchanting plays by boy at flute
heavenly exuberant beauty, innocency of girl 
tempted both to fall in love
his solitary vanished
cantering both, exploring intrinsic of love
days of distress begin by parting away
when family of girl
prohibit her outings
and sentence boy to agonise

being sneaky she with family
girl herself freed the boy
flee together they stealthily
launches away deep into light of love.

Love knows no boundaries,
Love knows no boundaries,
Love knows no boundaries,
                                     
                                                     -OWAIS

                                Copyright by owais exclusively

solitude is the school of wisdom, I read once.
being solitary loved by me most, may be I am kind of pensive so silence is highly fascinated by me. solitary is being conducive in conjuring me with numeral fanices, notions and thoughts infact my life does entail me toward solitary however I am so a very gregarious, affable and congenial person rather.

very popular saying " silent river runs deep ". solitude give rise to penetrate in one's own self and to explore, indeed solitude is the medium to commune with God. solitude plays an important role in mankind's life.

It was a torrid, sultry noon in my small remote village ( located in the Eastern India ). I can easily reckon, my colleagues collected outside my house to go on a spree. firstly decided to march to a pond located at a distance of half a mile by foot. subsequently borne idea of plucking mangoes from near-by orchards whilst stroding for pool.
we had ourselves to bathe in cool water for a bit of time. stretching all notorious activities from sneering to dabbling, shrieking to bullying others. after adventurous bath few reluctantly agreed to march toward orchard as we were forbid to enter since solely owned by rich, despot land-lords. as It was my notion so was I much earnest to resume, though friends propped me promptly. during the month of may and june, mangoes flourish lavishly in areas of north- central India. I could not resist my temptation to fall at mangoes as glances struck trees thickly laden with sappy mangoes and trepassed into orchard by sneaking from watchmen, we were driven into delirious lure by copius mangoes and keep darting deep inside the orchard.

rushed on the floor to fumble stones but stones striking could not work well, and none was ready to climb on a tree due to fear of unable to run away if watchmen appear and ultimately  become their prey. however, I decided to climb on tree to pluck mangoes. to my unfortunate  was caught by a watchman though friends gave shouts, due to thick tall tree skidded, crawled sluggishly provided watchman easy clasp.
I was escorted by watchman to my home. he complained to my mother impertinently about our mischievous activity swiftly.

I was escorted by watchman to my home. he complained to my mother impertinently about our mischievous activity effortlessly. to this my naughtiness, mom decided to imprison me into a tiny, musty cramped room in the house which used to resonant me as a creepy room during childhood. gloomy, smeared and tarnished with number of spiderwebs hanging, mouldy stinky smell keep haunting in one's nose until absolute exit from filthy room. the antiquated low wooden door, whose rusted hinges make grating sound on giving movements, made me to quiver. I used to peep stealthily when mom used to enter with the dim lighted lantern ( traditional lightning apparatus in villages when electricity was absence ). she use this dilapidated room for storing outdated, ignorant stuffs. my memories gradually countering these fancies and wave of timidness felt by me as mother took me to scary room but my persistent cry melt her to forgive me and pardon my mischievousness.