Fakir Judges None Poem by Sumita Jetley

Before the city stirs from its deep slumber,
Layla greets the dawn, where colors number.
High above the waking streets she stands,
With the morning sun clasping her gentle hands.

A balcony garden, her serene retreat,
With blooms that scent the air so sweet.
In white she's draped, a soft silhouette,
Performing dhikr as the sun is set.

"Al-Rahman, " she breathes, the world at her feet,
Her heart with mercy does replete.
Beads slip through fingers, silent and sure,
In each, a prayer, in each, a cure.

The sparrows chirp, the city awakes,
Yet in her peace, no turmoil partakes.
Her world—a canvas of light and shade,
Where chaos retreats but grace stayed.

Through the day, as the city roars loud,
Her morning's calm wears like a shroud.
In the storm of life, she's the quiet eye,
A Sufi's heart beneath the urban sky.