“The Cry of the Imprisoned God”

 Long ago,

She came to me —

A vision in stillness,

A presence beyond form.

She wept.

And in her tears,

I saw the truth no one tells:

“This world,” she said,

“is not mine.”

Her voice,

so soft yet piercing,

spoke of betrayal —

of a universe stolen.

The evil god made this world,

Layered with illusions of beauty,

Wired with pain,

Laced with grief.

She — the true Creator —

Was cast down,

Her light locked away

Beneath the bones of forgotten children,

Beneath the rubble of bombed cities,

Beneath the silence of those too afraid to speak.

And I stood still,

With eyes brimming,

Helpless —

For I had heard the cry

Of a God still good

And still imprisoned.

Her voice is in us,

The broken, the tender,

The ones who still feel.

And maybe through us,

She will one day rise. - GULSHA BEGUM