At Night, The Veil Thins Poem by Mohammad Younus

At night, the veil thins.
Angels brush past the edges of mind,
their wings stitched from stories—
forgotten or carried in subconscious.
Satan, too, sometimes steps in,
but his shadow dissolves—
if the najm e saaqib chases him.

Ghosts drift in—
perhaps no more than echoes of graveyards—
or the soft murmurs of fears—
We've been afraid to face.
Sometimes saints speak in dreams—
their words embroidered in the golden fabric,
yet I wonder if it is their voice or mine
that calls out through the dreams.

I hold no judgment for these visitors.
They are neither real nor false—
just reflections of the rivers mind crosses—
pools where light and memory gather.

If they come, let them come.
If they leave, let them leave.
For whether dream or illusion—each vision leaves a footprint,
pressed gently into the soil of the soul,
waiting to bloom when the dawn touches it—
A basil flower or a devil's trumpet,
Whatever is sown.

MyKoul