Khanqah Poem by Sumita Jetley

In Delhi's heart where spices blend,
Lives Meera, artist, spirit's friend.
Her hands in clay breathe life anew,
Yet for something more her spirit flew.

Her home a canvas, scents and hues,
With Pirs, the saints, she'd share her muse.
A khanqah's charm had touched her core,
'What if my home could offer more? '

One eve, as skies wore twilight's gown,
On woven rug, she settled down.
A candle lit, a prayer took flight,
To Pirs she spoke in soft moonlight.

'O Pirs revered, hear my decree,
Make this your khanqah, set spirits free.
Bless this space with love's own light,
A sanctuary in eternal night.'

The candle flickered, then was gone,
Yet in the dark, something dawned.
A presence filled the tranquil air,
Meera knew her prayer was there.

Days to weeks, the whispers grew,
Her home a haven for the few.
Her art now spoke in divine tongue,
Of cosmic love, forever sung.

A modern khanqah, it became,
A sanctuary in more than name.
Meera knew her prayer took flight,
Blessed by Pirs in love's pure light.