Dew And Flame Poem by Mystic Qalandar

The morning dew—
a bead of night, still holding
the last secret of the stars—
glistens,
fresh and full of promise.

I watch the sun
lick its cool, tender existence,
while the dew's eyes
caress the sun's breath,
until it melts
back into the rivers of heaven.

The dew stands noble—
firm and shapely,
shivering
beneath the flame's warm touch.

They exchange tender caresses,
innocent kisses,
burning like dew
beneath the sun.

They play the game of love
through annihilation.

Each drop,
a small, trembling mirror
in which the whole sky kneels.

The dew turns toward the flame
and finds itself.

The sun bends low
and drinks
what it once poured upon the earth—
each drop lifted, breath by breath,
into the rivers of heaven.

They share a hidden country,
its map concealed—
a treasure veiled
so that it may be sought.

They love
by losing themselves.

Who is the Lover?
Who is the Beloved?

The Lover is the Beloved.
The Beloved is the Lover.

Kiss upon kiss.
Light upon light.

Until neither can say
where one ends—

and there is no other
to begin.

—MyKoul