Looking back at my old notes, I realised the intensity of spiritual feminism in my veins.

A poem I framed 5 years ago.

In the search of some questions

I had this notion…

That who makes so much of commotion?

The one who is behind a tree?

Or the one who condemned me to be free…

Is she the one present everywhere?

Oh yes! I asked my mind.

I can see her, here and there.

She is the wind , she is the creature

But not like us, the miniatures.

She is the one who runs the wheel and the wound healer…


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