Tag _sufi
it is the state of mind. probably !... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
it is the state of the mind. Though... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
let it stay... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
things on the way ushering not to be hushed ever!... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
They whirled... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
And they just went relishing it whatsoever perhaps...... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
let the prayers riSe!... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
exceptional moments... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
Maturity I am bench marking at!... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
This is absurd though. To think ... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
I just stay myself... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
The Unspoken Connection Mara and Ethan had been together for years, but their relationship was anything but ordinary. They were not the type to indulge in public displays of affection or to fill their social media feeds with lovey-dovey photos. Instead, their love was a quiet force, a deep river that flowed silently but powerfully … ... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
In a bustling town on the outskirts of Lahore, lived a fakir named Ilyas. Unlike other fakirs who were known for their solemnity and asceticism, Ilyas was different; he was a dancing fakir. Every evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Ilyas would dance in the town square, his feet barely touching the ground, … ... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
then what happens?... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
i am not to fear of anything... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
the silence speaks... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
In a city full of noise, Amina found her grace,Guided by Sufi Pirs, in life’s relentless race.Yet even she had doubts, creeping into her mind,A lesson soon to learn, a new path to find. A Pir approached one night, his smile a soothing balm,“Trust your unique journey,” he whispered in her palm.Amina felt it then, … ... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
Once upon a time, in the heart of Delhi, lived Pir Nizammuddin, a revered Sufi saint, and his devoted disciple, Khusrow, a gifted poet and musician. They were not just master and disciple; they were kindred spirits, bound by their love for the Divine and the arts. The Morning of Mysteries On a particular morning, … ... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
Aman was twelve when his world changed. He lived in a small village near Delhi, during the reign of Sultan Ghiyasuddin Tughlaq. His father had passed away during a rough harvest season, leaving behind a frail mother and a barren field. Days stretched long, but nothing seemed to grow, neither in their land nor in … ... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
And I kept breathing... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
i see no wrong when i say few things on my own... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
In a quiet corner of Rajasthan, amid the golden dunes of the Thar Desert, there was a woman named Noor who seemed tethered to the winds. Noor wasn’t like other women in her village; she carried a restlessness that made her eyes burn brighter, her words linger longer. It wasn’t marriage or wealth she craved—it … ... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
Whatever But it Is ... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
don't be indifferent... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
Yes! why not... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
This is madness.... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
Amid this world of colors fair,I yearn to partake, to boldly dare.Oh Fakir of hues, enchant me truly,With pigments rare, both old and new.... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
The path where angels dare not roam,Monks tread lightly, seeking the homeOf enlightenment, where truths abide,In the sanctuary of their inner stride.... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
In the dimly lit chamber of an ancient Sufi shrine, a sajda nashin—caretaker of the sacred relics—sat alone, surrounded by the mystical artifacts that had been passed down through generations. The room was filled with the scent of incense and the soft glow of oil lamps, casting shadows that danced on the walls like ethereal … ... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
In the bustling streets of Varanasi, where the Ganges River whispered ancient secrets, lived a humble bookseller named Arjun. His shop was a sanctuary amid chaos, a place where the scent of ink and paper overpowered the aroma of street food and incense. The shelves were lined with books that held worlds within worlds, each … ... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
As he bows deeply, everything around him goes quiet. The noises of the people, the distant prayer calls, even the sound of his clothes moving—all of it fades away. He feels alone, but also deeply connected to everything. His heart quietly says the holy names, each one a small light in the dark. His breathing … ... mehr auf sumitajetley.wordpress.com
