Minus Identity, Who am I ?

Tell me, minus your name, and all that was given by man, who are you?

Where I am now, I am no daughter, no mother, no lover, no poet, only a timeless wanderer in a dusk of lilies. I am the universe's aching heartbeat, the wail of fathers who never returned from the hunt, the soul whose roots are heightened by moonlight in the shadow of the sun's embrace.

I strip away grief, pain, and form into the answers of praying mothers, a celestial production with thunderous designs, detailed like constellations. Here, I am loved without condition, sacrificed for without sacrifice.

I wear no labels, no names, no tags, not measured by how much I love before I am loved, not by whether my dress holds a gaze or my hair pleases a hand. Forgiven without a price, imprinted like jasmine in a cooking book, I am not carved into cultural or religious bridges.

I am a raven of imagination in a room of paradoxical hums where silence learns to levitate. Tell me, minus your name, and all that was given by man, who are you?