A Wireless Hymn Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Night settles.
The windows are shut,
yet the cold slips
through the walls.
In the far corner,
a lamp glows,
half in sleep,
half in wakefulness.

Space softens
into star-fall.
On the radio's strings
an old melody lingers—
whose vanished tune is this?
The house holds its quiet,
yet the air breathes an echo.

Dawn is not far.
The sun climbs from the mud,
draws its gleaming hands
over the skin of the world.
A thin line of warmth waits
on the horizon.
Day approaches,
already luminous.

I open the door—
the birds are still asleep.
Perhaps in their dreams
the same hymn whispers,
the one my radio,
even in silence,
dissolves into mind,
into air, into moment.

This wireless sitar,
this raga of open sky,
the pulse of turning stars,
the wind's applause,
the breath that binds
all things—
it flows in my veins,
abides in my breath.

Night breaks.
Yet this new light seems
risen from ancient star-dust.
The birds have not stirred,
but within the quiet,
a new song begins.

—December,19,2025