Meeraaz Poem by Sumita Jetley

She walks where no footprints stay,
Where even the sun forgets to shine the same way.
No name on her tongue,
No weight on her back—
Only silver rings to remind her of earth
while she listens to stars talk in ancient dialects.

She is not seeking,
She is not fleeing.
She is becoming.

A song hummed under her breath,
like a secret only the dunes deserve.
She has loved and let go—
a soft violence she no longer mourns.

They said she was mad.
She smiled.
Because sanity never taught her
how to speak to wind.

One night, the fire found her.
And by it sat a man—not quite man, not quite god.
He handed her a cup, chipped and warm,
and she drank the taste of memory.

"Who are you? " she asked.
"I am your echo, " he said.

And the fire crackled with the sound of knowing.

She did not stay.
She did not need to.
Because when you've touched what's eternal,
you carry it in your walk.

Meeraaz walks still.
Not for peace.
For poetry.