Fakir & Anjali Poem by Sumita Jetley

In the hush of dawn's first light, along the Ganges' serene sight,
Walked Anjali, soul in flight, with a mystic, a guide of night.
Her years were forty and some, in life's intricate tapestry spun,
A world of duty and run, under the ever-traveling sun.

The mystic, aged, wise, and kind, with a peace that could soothe the mind,
Robes flowing like the river, undefined, in him, the universe's secrets twined.
Together they walked, yet apart, each on a journey of the heart,
Seeking what's set apart, in life's ceaseless cart.

Anjali spoke of life, a whirlwind dance, of dreams, duty, chance, and stance,
'How can I find peace, not just glance, in this ever-rushing expanse? '
The mystic, with a smile, eyes deep, spoke of secrets the world does keep,
'In stillness, not steep, lies the peace you seek.'

'Observe the river, how it flows, against no rock its anger shows,
In its being, it finds repose, and in its course, it simply knows.
So too must you learn to be, in the moment, free, you'll see,
In being, not in the spree, lies your path to glee.'

Anjali listened, her heart aflutter, as truths were spoken, soft as butter,
Of life, a candle, not to gutter, in the winds of time that mutter.
She saw the river, its lesson clear, in its flow, no fret or fear,
In its journey, both far and near, it sang a song for her to hear.

From then on, Anjali walked anew, with a heart open, a soul that flew,
In moments small and morning dew, she found joys she never knew.
The mystic's words, like seeds, were sown, in her heart, they had grown,
Into wisdom, she now owned, in her spirit, it shone.

In her village, she became a light, a beacon of peace, in day and night,
Her journey, a testament to insight, in being, she found her might.
Anjali, once lost, now found, with a heart deep and profound,
In her silence, the world's sound, a harmony, bound.

So remember this tale, old yet new, of a woman and a mystic, under the sky so blue,
Along the Ganges, in morning's hue, they found truths deep and true.
In the art of simply being, in the beauty of just seeing,
Lies the secret of freeing, the soul's serene decreeing.