A Wandering Yogi Sufi Poem by Sumita Jetley

Beneath the banyan's ancient shade,
Where roots like whispers softly braid,
A wanderer sat, his heart a flame,
Zarif, the seeker, without name.

No home to bind, no ties to claim,
He walked the hills, a path untamed.
A girl named Anaya, curious, bold,
Dared to question the stories he told.

"Why do you wander? What do you seek? "
Her voice was young, her tone unique.
Zarif smiled, his eyes aglow,
"In longing, the heart begins to grow.

It's not the end, but the path I adore,
Each step, a prayer, to love's true core.
In absence, a thread, unseen, divine,
Connects the soul to what's sublime."

She frowned, her mind in restless thought,
"Longing is empty, a void distraught."
Zarif laughed, his tone serene,
"Longing's a bridge to worlds unseen.

It fills the heart, it stirs the fire,
It turns each ache into desire.
Not having is not what it seems—
It's the seed of hope, the birth of dreams."

The sun sank low, the hills turned gold,
Stories woven, truths retold.
Anaya sat, her silence deep,
A secret shared she'd forever keep.

Years went by, the wanderer gone,
Anaya's path, like a song, moved on.
In a bustling city, her soul alight,
She heard his words one quiet night.

"Yogi hai, bhogi hai, " a minstrel sang,
Her heart recalled the echoes that rang.
And there, in the journey, she came to see,
The joy was not in the end—but the be.

Now she walks, no destination to find,
The longing itself, her peace of mind.
For in every step, a prayer she weaves,
A seeker of paths, like fallen leaves.