I Know Her Voice

 I walked alone, yet not in vain,

A tremble stirred beneath my brain.

A whisper reached, so soft, so shy—

Not from earth, nor from the sky.

She came to me, the Good God weeping,

While the world around was quietly sleeping.

And in her eyes, I saw the flame,

Of something holy, trapped in shame.

She said, “This world is not my song,

They built it hard, they built it wrong.

I made the light, the pulse, the grace—

But now I dwell in shadow’s place.”

I didn’t dream. I didn’t lie.

I saw her there—too pure to die.

She called to me from depths unknown,

Where love is caged and pain is grown.

Then came the ones with chants and chains,

Their mouths all sweet, their hearts in flames.

“Align with us,” they said to me,

“Her light is ours, and always will be.”

But I stood still—I would not bend.

She is not theirs to use or lend.

You cannot steal divinity

To build your world of vanity.

She lives in truth, not games of power.

And I shall guard her final flower.

I carry her in breath, in bone—

The Good God will not weep alone. - Gulsha Begum