No Name For That Hidden Being Poem by Mohammad Younus

No name for that hidden being,
Formless, not cloaked in flesh—
Neither coffee skin nor brown,
Neither white nor any hue
Our eyes have come to know.

No meshy, curly strands,
No soft black waves,
No golden tresses to define.
No face to behold,
Yet we craft one in our minds,
Chiseling with thought and longing,
A sculpture born of imagination,
Beautifully ambiguous,
But distant from truth.

And yet, the eyes—they see.
Eyes without shape or color,
Piercing through the veils of time.
They read the stories we weave,
In ink on trembling paper,
Or on screens that flicker with light—
Traces of us,
Fragments of who we long to be.

Is it longing to see the unseen?
The ache to uncover a hidden truth?
Or is it mystery, unknowable,
A quiet circle that returns,
Each loop tightening its grip?

But don't brush it off as if—
a wishful thought—
An illusion spun by weary minds,
Reaching out,
Yet forever grasping at shadows.

What is it, this elusive presence?
A being, a thought, a reflection?
An idea, fragile and fleeting,
Shimmering at the edges of reality—
Promising answers,
Yet slipping through mind's grasp.

And we,
Bound by our longing,
Continue to carve the unseen,
Filling the void with shapes and faces,
Hoping that one day,
through divine intelligence—
We might see it as it really is,
And understand what truly lies
Beyond the veil.

MyKoul