She danced with fire upon her feet,
With a brush in hand, a rhythm so sweet.
A whisper lost through ancient shrine,
Painting a picture in every line.
Her lehenga, a reminder of art long gone,
Each twirl, a prayer from dusk till dawn.
Her ghungroo speaks of rebellious queens,
Where calligraphy kisses Sanskrit screens.
Her henna bore designs crafted in dreams,
Each shape, each stroke, a river of themes.
She moves, she drifts, she stays afloat—
A living verse in a timeless coat.