The Morning Wind, In Hush And Fine Design Poem by Mohammad Younus

The morning wind, in hush and fine design,
Combs through the world, perfumed with the Divine.

The veils slip off from faces born to shine—
Each soul unveiled, aligned with the Divine.

Every heart entwined in sacred, silent twine
Silence speaking within, upheld by the Divine.

Each petal laughs in dew and light benign—
But who, unseen, bestows it? The Divine.

The dawn has slit the dark with ruby line,
And every beam proclaims—the Divine.

The seeker kneels in dust and star's incline—
Each grain aglow, a trace of the Divine.

The self dissolves, no bone nor edge nor spine—
Now whirls the soul, embraced by the Divine.

The flute-heart cries, its voice a shrine—
Its broken breath becomes the Divine.

If stars do fall not through a love's design,
Then who keeps vigil near the Divine?

The river sings through curve and silver line,
Its every pulse a mirror of the Divine.

The moth consents to flame in trust benign—
What scorches is not wing but the Divine.

The mirror-heart, once void of name and sign,
Holds now no form—just light of the Divine.

Though caged, the nightingale aligns each line
Of song to winged recall of the Divine.

The wanderer, worn on thorned incline,
Falls, at last, in arms of the Divine.

Speak now, MyKoul, in awe your truth design—
Each verse you breathe bears flame of the Divine.

MyKoul