She balances the boulders of humanity
in mind, searching for serenity
in a world mould out of enxiety
and that lacks the edge of prosperity.

Purified souls she looks at at ease
but devious creatures she sees
that drizzle salts at seas
descending the spirit of peace.

She invades tilted minds
with her words, to infill knowledge and pride
that got wiped out by high tides
of the greatest divide.

Her pen talks
to blind folks
about the means of her walks
to the Promised land of hopes.

She rises, not her voice but words
like sharp edged swords
in the battle of worlds
fighting for defenceless warlords.

She is not a writer but a preacher
not an author but a storyteller
not a poet but an analyser
not a motivational speaker but a reminder.

She is not what you look at but what you see.