No One Is Sitting Here Poem by Quaid - Uz- Zaman

in a terrain,
a hermit of its soul's kind,
amidst all the noises, excesses, and lack of rest,
is restful until it settles down the heavy metals on the floor,
and the blue, clear as transparent as possible,
spreads over the cosmos, holding enormous beauty
but before getting into that idea,
every step is rewarding,
and every shade a promising prayer, one complimenting the other,
and when words fail and fall,
new words find their freedom, take hold of the silence,
all, in a butterfly motion, capture the ugliest
that ever existed,
rattling the silent shell.