Luna - The 'mystique' Poem by Sumita Jetley

In a crowded market, amidst barter and cheer,
Luna walked softly, unnoticed but near.
With whispers that drifted like sand on the breeze,
She found the tired merchant, lost in his pleas.

"Dreams, " she said gently, "don't have to be lost."
Her words like a lantern, rekindling his thoughts.
That night, his fingers brushed pages once more,
Sketching a life he'd left at the door.

By a river, a woman sat, heartbroken and lone,
Eyes fixed on the water, her pain turned to stone.
Luna joined her in silence, then softly spoke,
"Some storms cleanse the soil for new seeds to grow."

In her quiet, Mira found a glimmer of grace,
A light in the dark, a love she could trace.
She let go of bitterness, let hope take its place,
Learning that love leaves its mark and its space.

In an inn by the forest, hid a child in fright,
Too scared of the world to step into the light.
Luna handed her fireflies caught in a jar,
"Hold this light, little one; it's yours from afar."

Safi's eyes widened with wonder so bright,
Holding courage disguised as a soft, golden light.
She saw that the world, though vast and unknown,
Held magic for her, a space of her own.

Then came the sage, beneath a lone tree,
Who told Luna, "Your river flows not just for thee.
Speak your intuition, let it pour and give form,
For words shape the winds and calm the storm."

So Luna walked on, with wisdom in hand,
A silent map traced across every land.
She met a pilgrim, lost and bowed low,
Her faith like the sands, shifting and slow.

"Sometimes, " said Luna, "the detour's the way,
Each step is the journey, night leads to day."
With those words, the pilgrim found solace anew,
Her path lit by stars, her heart beating true.

And so Luna wandered, her voice soft and clear,
Guiding the weary, drawing them near.
Her whispers were gentle, yet carved into stone,
A map for the lost, a path of their own.