14 She is like the merchants' ships; she bringeth her food from afar. 15 She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens.

Faiz wrote not for prizes. He wrote for prisoners, dissenters—for anyone whose voice trembled at the edge of silence. His poems weren’t clothed for applause. They beat like a pulse—steady, strong, ...