Echos of Ganga

The rustle of silk saris in a temple breeze, a voice that echoes with the ancient Ganga's flow, a woman weaves words, her heart at ease, a tapestry of stories, where ancient myths grow. She speaks in the language of her ancestors' prayers, a melody of tongues, vibrant and bold, her words, a peacock's dance, in the air, a symphony of whispers, stories untold. From the quiet hum of a flute in the twilight to the thunderous beat of a monsoon drum, she sings in the languages of every light, a mosaic of experiences, her spirit spun. In her verses, traditions dance and collide, she breaks the silence, with a fearless stride, her words, a bridge, across the cultural divide, a chorus of voices, rising, with pride. She is the voice of countless, whispered desires, a woman who speaks the truth, with fire, her words, a flame, dispelling all fears, a woman in poetry, forever near.