A Fakir In Varanasi Poem by Sumita Jetley

In Varanasi's ancient heart, where Ganges whispers flow,
Lived a Sufi, wise and kind, with a spirit's gentle glow.
Asif was his given name, in modern times he thrived,
Balancing the ancient ways, where deep mystic truths survived.

Each evening by the fire's light, in humble, quiet space,
He'd meditate and reflect, in this sacred, tranquil place.
Hands raised in shukr and praise, his soul in peaceful flight,
Amidst the dance of flickering flames, in the calm of fading light.

'Who am I to judge? ' he'd muse, in whispers soft and low,
For in his heart he understood, life's complex ebb and flow.
His own mistakes, like shadows cast, in the fire's warm embrace,
Taught him grace and humility, in life's unending race.

Through Varanasi's timeless lanes, with temples standing tall,
He walked with a gentle smile, embracing one and all.
In simple words of wisdom found, a truth forever sage,
'Who am I to judge? ' he'd say, 'We each pen our own page.'

In the blend of old and new, his spirit found its course,
A modern mystic's journey, with ancient wisdom as its source.
In every error, every fault, a lesson to be learned,
A chance for growth, for inner peace, for the love that's earned.

So in the heart of Varanasi, by the Ganges' flowing grace,
Lived a Sufi, humble and wise, a man of gentle pace.
In his meditations deep, by the fire's gentle light,
He found a world of understanding, in the quiet of the night.