She walks with the quiet rhythm of the dawn,
A gentle fire burning through the mist,
Carrying the quiet strength of sacred earth,
A spirit by the golden twilight kissed.
Her roots run deep where wild rivers flow,
Unbent by storms that wander through the night,
She gathers fragments of the falling dark
And turns every shadow into softest light.
There is magic in the way she holds her space,
Unbound by fear, fiercely soaring free,
A blooming universe wrapped in grace—
The quiet poetry of Neha Basumatary.
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