The Open Window Poem by Mystic Qalandar

An open window—
breathing into the night's dark throat,
I listen, intent,
for truth's hidden whisper,
proclaiming:
"I am the Ever-Living, the Self-Subsisting.
All shall perish… save My essence."

Yet here I lie, sorrow-drenched,
lost in the folds of darkness,
beneath the charred shadow
of autumn's dying chinar tree,
as leaves drift down
onto my slumbering form,
one by one.

These eyes, gifted by the Creator
to behold spring's green awakening—
I let them grow blind
in the mists of my own longing.

But beneath patience's gentle shade,
I drank deep of prayer's honey.
Merciful hands offered me
the draught of immortality,
and within me, a river surged—
like dawn after winter.

Long-dead joy shivered back to life,
light blossomed inside me,
and that radiance whispered:
"Am I not your Lord? "
And in rapture, I cried: "Yes! Yes! "

Then scattered dreams drew together,
"Welcome" etched upon my heart's threshold.
Cobwebs torn away, sorrow's dust swept clean
by love's awakening breeze.

My desolate heart inhaled renewal—
after the long, weary night of dreams,
I awaited this footfall of change.

Through the window,
a nightingale peeks in, singing,
offering a healing melody.
I hear that eternal song—
new words. New life.