Hiyaal Veveythee Buneemey - Ali Rameez

Gandhee gandhee kurame huvaa - Remix .mp3

Veeraana(MP3_128K).mp3

Sentey - Loabivaavaru ( Unplugged )

mee thedhey

އިސްތަށިން މޫނު ތިފޮރުވާލީހޭ
ރީތި ހީލުމެކެ ނުފޮރުވާލާށޭ (2)

ބީހިލަން މޫނު ތި ލިބިދާނެހެ އަންނާށެ ރުހެން (2)
ގާތުގާ ލޯބި ކުރަން ސޫރަ ތި ހުރެދޭށެ ލަދުން (2)
އިސްޖެހީ މޫނު މަށަށް ފޮރުވަންހޭ
ރީތި ހީލުމެކެ ނުފޮރުވާލާށޭ
އިސްތަށިން މޫނު ތިފޮރުވާލީހޭ
ރީތި ހީލުމެކެ ނުފޮރުވާލާށޭ

އޮއްސުނީ ރީތި ހަނދޭ ފެނުފަ ކަލާ ހީލީމާ (2)
ފޮޅިދެޔޭ ބާޣު ޚަރީފެއްގަ ކަލާ ފެނުނީމާ (2)
ޗާލު ކަނދުރައިގަ މަ ފިރުމާލަންހޭ
ރީތި ހީލުމެކެ ނުފޮރުވާލާށޭ
އިސްތަށިން މޫނު ތިފޮރުވާލީހޭ
ރީތި ހީލުމެކެ ނުފޮރުވާލާށޭ

ހާދަ ހިތް ބޭނުމެ ނުބަލާނުހެ ތިޔަ ރީތި ލޮލުން (2)
ބޭނުމޭ ފާޅުކުރަން ލޯބި ކިޔައިދޭ މި ދުލުން (2)
ސިއްރު ސިއްރުން ތި ލޮލުން ނުބަލާށޭ
ރީތި ހީލުމެކެ ނުފޮރުވާލާށޭ
އިސްތަށިން މޫނު ތިފޮރުވާލީހޭ
ރީތި ހީލުމެކެ ނުފޮރުވާލާށޭ

Isthashin moonu - Umar Zahir

Buneemey Mi Loabin - Ali Rameez

Vindhu Jahaathy Kiyaadhemey -  Lahufaa & Mehefooz

This song captures the emotional turbulence of a love that’s both magnetic and chaotic. Through vivid imagery and metaphor, it portrays the experience of being caught in the unpredictable waves of someone’s moods—sometimes tender and warm, other times distant and stormy. The verses explore the frustration and fascination of loving someone whose inner world feels like a puzzle, while the chorus emphasizes the disorienting, repetitive cycle of connection and withdrawal. The bridge adds introspection, highlighting the uncertainty of whether this love will bring joy or pain. Overall, the song is a raw, honest exploration of emotional highs and lows, vulnerability, and the irresistible pull of someone who keeps you on edge

up-and-down

a low floor under a higher ache

Patience is percussion on the rim of rock,
drip spells doctrine into lime and chalk.
Grain after grain, a grammar under frost,
letters in the limestone learning what is lost.
I set my jaw to gentle, let the rhythm choose,
soft knocks, small knocks, news against the bruise.
Clarify or calcify, the fork inside the throat:
one path is water writing, one is turning to a coat.
I practice being porous where the day would plate me tight,
let meaning seep and brighten, not harden into white.

Little laws in little drops, low work, long light;
I keep a softer center where the corners want to bite.

This is what the waiting’s like, drops of sulphur born from strife.
Is this what hope can be, blindfolded photon, cascading endlessly.
Strike, wave warm and boldly, collapse into the only,
only one that ever was, feed the growth of fern and moss.
Maybe all of us are alike, alike alone together on this tall steep hike, 
this is what a loop is like.

Hill with a hard old heart, I climb and keep it kind,
boots rhyme slate with breath, I loosen in the mind.
Stubborn grace is cheek against the granite’s stubborn face,
neither breaks the other; both remember pace.
I knock the same small syllable until the music yields,
not cracking for a triumph, but opening to fields.
Clarify or calcify, I hear the proverb ring,
Dyfal donc on knuckle bone until the welter sings.
Not every edge needs filing; some just want a palm,
a steady pulse of nearness drumming them to calm.

Stone learns slow from water; I learn slow from stone,
to carry weight without becoming wholly bone.

This is what the waiting’s like, drops of sulphur born from strife.
Hope is how a photon hides, a wave that will not choose a side,
blindfold on, it rides and rides.
Strike, then warm and boldly be, collapse into the only,
only love that ever was, feed the fern, invite the moss.
Maybe all of us alike, alike alone upon this hike,
this is what a loop is like.

Wave says “both,” and particle says “pick,”
I lay the coin on tongue and let it melt, not click.
Knees know slate, hands know shale,
heart is a hammer that has learned to fail
at breaking; now it learns to name,
to tap until the shape is tame.
Clarify the salt from grief,
calcify the false belief.
If I must harden, let it be to hold,
a shell around the tender, not a prison made of cold.

The ridge is long, the weather’s loud,
we are a hush inside a crowd.
I see you shoulder daylight’s load,
I hear you counting stones to code.
The choice repeats in rain and rhyme,
turn to crust or turn to time.
I keep a cup for clarity and carry what I can,
I leave a chalk-white outline where I used to be a man.
Grace is not a lightning strike; it’s knuckles, breath, and will,
the courage to stay soluble and sing while standing still.

Tap and listen, listen and let go;
the mountain keeps no anger that the moss does not outgrow.

This is what the waiting’s like, drops of sulphur borne from strife.
Is this what hope can be, blindfolded photon, falling, free.
Strike, wave warm and boldly, collapse into the only,
only one that ever was, feed the growth of fern and moss.
Maybe all of us are alike, alike alone together on this tall, steep hike;
yes, this is what a loop is like.

Clarify, not calcify, let the drop decide.
Knock, and keep your knuckles kind.

mee thedhey

soby mohamed

Related tracks