Those Who See In Darkness Poem by Mystic Qalandar

When daylight folds
its fragile reason,
and the world forgets its name—
they awaken.

Pilgrims of intuition,
hearts kindled
by an unseen flame.

The owl unveils
the soul's unblinking eye—
guardian of the veil
where shadows murmur
in consecrated hush.

It does not seek to see,
yet seeing descends—
a breath drawn
from the dream before dreams.

Blackbirds drift
through realms unseen,
their wings spun
from the breath
between two silences.

Their flight is worship,
their being, scripture.
They whisper:
truth endures,
even without witness.

The nightjar threads
the void with song,
mapping the abyss
by trembling tone.
It knows—
truth is no torch to hold,
but resonance,
a pulse replied from within.

Deep beneath
the slow-turning heart of earth,
the phoenix listens
in its crypt of ash,
drinks the scent of buried fire,
hears what embers utter:

life begins
through its own surrender,
and death hums softly
its immortal refrain.

Still as devotion,
the black-crowned heron waits—
a charcoal stroke of grace
among reeds.
It learns the sacred art of being,
entrusting stillness
to the unseen flow.

Their counsel is hush—
truth need not blaze.
It breathes in veiled groves,
in the cosmos inwardly sighing,
in silence
that carries its own light.

To dwell in darkness
and yet remain awake—
this is their creed.

Perhaps this, too,
is the soul's path:
not to flee the unseen,
but to feel
the eternal pulse beneath silence;
to trust,
as shadows fold like wings,
that the Way unfolds—
step by faithful step.

—October,18,2025