The Rosegarden Of Alast Poem by Mystic Qalandar

A cool breeze brushes my soul's cheek—
a subtle touch that parts my inner eyes
to a rose garden breathing its fragrance
into my being.

Roses toss their heads in ecstasy.
Sparrows, doves, nightingales—
the morning choir— sing
from the green embrace of hospitable trees,
while hummingbirds on high
pour jubilant notes into the waiting air.
Their voices marry the wind
until nature composes its most radiant symphony.

On the lips of every rose
lingers the taste of spring honey,
a sweet song of creation upon each petal's tongue—
fresh, nectarous, enfolding soul and mind
with the eternal vow of Alast:
This garden will not fade,
but bloom again and again,
to yield the fragrance the Divine
first created for His own breath.

I inhale the tender bloom—
bright, loving—
perfume spun from sunlight,
woven with dew-soaked grass,
distilled to an essence
only the Eternal could craft
for Himself to breathe.

I feel the velvet press of petals
against all being,
the warm embrace of bees
upon each rose's cheek.
I see delicate notes of music curl
like a breeze against the formless soul,
filling me with the humming of creation.

My soul opens wide,
bathed in radiant hum.
It blossoms, painting my existence
in pinks, yellows, and blues,
swaying beneath the breath of "Be"—
a command that unfurls
like a vast and endless sky.

I breathe in— fragrance of dawn.
I breathe out— the song of spring.
I breathe in— the bloom of roses.
I breathe out— the smile of being.

For I know spring births these roses for me,
that I may become a breath of the Divine.

A breath of the Divine.

—September 6,2025