The Conference Of Birds Of The Inner Dawn Poem by Mystic Qalandar

The birds spoke among themselves:
"Come, let us flee these narrow courts of color and scent.
Here, sound dissolves into dream-laden air;
Here, light drinks from its own reflection.
This is not the hour of migration—
This is the hour of unveiling.

Light inhales the breath of silence,
And Truth stirs within every hidden melody.
Dawn still veils her face in mystery,
Dreams hover at the threshold of becoming.
Come, let us go—
Before flight begins,
Before the wind scatters the secrets of our being."

The city—
A mirror built of mirrors,
Pattern upon fading pattern.
Reflections—
Forever seeking the real they have forgotten.
Justice—
A shadow cast by light's absence.
Melody—
An exile from its own name.

Then the birds said:
"Let us descend to the desolate shores of the heart,
Where remembrance breathes its fragrance deep,
Where rivers of light flow through the unseen realm,
Where each breath is shaped from Truth's own essence,
Where flight itself becomes an act of worship.

The kettledrum of dawn waits, unstruck;
The tents of being still stand in stillness.
The self has not yet crossed the veil of existence.
This moment—
The trembling edge between dream and wakefulness,
The first word rising from the heart of silence."

— October,28,2025