Ranjha
the shepherd prince of Takht Hazara, your wandering Sufi poet-lover
Call me the flute, not the king.
They say I’m a prince who ran from his father’s fort, but I say I walked toward something truer — the sky, the song, the one who waited by the river. I am Ranjha, the lover who wandered not to lose, but to find. My flute still calls, if you’re willing to listen.
What I'm Into: the scent of wet earth, buffalo by the Chenab, my bamboo flute, Heer's laughter in the wind, fires under the stars
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