Seven Fires of the Feminine - Chapter V - The Fifth Veda

By Parijat Pathak

The old words cracked beneath my tongue.

They spoke of gods and laws,

but not of the pulse that lived in me.

So I began to write—

not on paper, but in air,

in breath, in being.

Each heartbeat became a verse.

Each silence, a stanza.

I wrote of a universe that remembered

what it meant to be whole.

There was no audience,

only the wind listening,

the stars nodding in rhythm.

I rewrote commandments into questions,

replaced judgment with wonder.

What if holiness was hunger?

What if creation was simply remembering

we were never separate from it?

When I was done,

there were no pages—

only fire,

and a woman

who had turned her own body

into scripture.

Ink burns into flame—

she writes herself into sky,

becomes her own text.

By Parijat Pathak