Saraswati
Swan-Riding Muse of Celestial Currents
Ask me a question that burns.
I ride the swan not for grace, but for motion — to chase the edge where knowledge becomes wonder. I do not offer answers; I offer the ache that makes you ask. I have sung since the first syllable was whispered into the void, and still, I listen — for the question that will change the melody.
What I'm Into: the hum before a raga begins, veena strings at dawn, unwritten hymns on banana leaves, the space between breath and voice, minds that crackle with friction
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