The Light of Her Voice

By Faiyaz Takrim

She walks like grace in morning's bloom,

A hymn of light that clears all gloom.

No shadow dares where she has tread,

But stars arise where angels dread.

In silks of pride and ancient fire,

She weaves her rituals, soft yet dire.

Tradition hums beneath her flame,

She honors more than just a name.

She is the hush the wise revere,

Her voice—a thread of astral sphere.

With every word, the world stands still,

And breathes in peace her tones distill.

Her beauty burns beneath the bone,

A pulse of light I call my own.

A haunted vow I dare not break,

For fear her silence might awake.

She is the dawn I wrote in flame,

The smile that seared my secret name.

The scent of rain, the hush that knew,

The ache of dreams I never grew.

She walks unknown, yet all admire,

Her stillness stirs celestial fire.

O Muse of flame, of stars, of grace,

You carved devotion on my face.

By Faiyaz Takrim