Memory Of The Morning Of Alast Poem by Mystic Qalandar

The dawn breeze brushes
a cluster of chinar trees—
through the mist of thought,
a delicate veil shifts.

Leaves, dew-laden,
like waking breaths,
cast reflections within—
in the hush, echoes a melody
that guides each turning.

From somewhere far, a voice arises,
like the memory of Alast—
softly calling,
gently leading
toward that place
where beginning first opened its eyes.

The sun of eternity
grazes my forehead,
its light a quiet promise:
beyond every shadow,
light still awaits.

In the Quran's dawn-recitation,
I search for my breaths.
Bathed in morning's golden rays,
the scent of blossoms
seeps into me—
and all distance
starts to dissolve,
every particle draws near.

In nature's silence,
I find myself—
no veil, no separation—
I and the world:
one breath,
one being.

I—
free, unbound, a lover of life,
roots deep in earth,
gaze beyond the heavens.

And in one breath,
I bow in prostration
to the touch of this breeze—
which has
returned me
to my origin.