In The Last Hours of Night Poem by Mystic Qalandar

In the last hours of night,
when silence begins to speak,
and time seems to pause—
the music of the Sovereign echoes
and light flows
from every direction.

I witness a vision—
as if the moment of Alast
has returned,
wrapped in the hush
of the last hours of night.

A question rises,
not spoken,
yet luminous:
"Am I not your Lord? "

From the depths of the heart,
the voice of the One resounds—
audible only
in the stillness
of the last hours of night.

My soul responds,
without hesitation,
without inquiry:
"Indeed."

And I remember—
that primordial vow,
the timeless instant
when the Book of Nūn opened,
and the Pen wrote
its first verse
upon the eternal Tablet,
beneath the veil
of the last hours of night.

Then each morning,
a new light shines
upon the original light,
and I inhale its fragrance—
in silence,
between my breaths.

From pre-eternity
until now,
I recognize
the scent of the Flower of Oneness,
hidden
behind every form
in the last hours of night.

A thought enters—
Why does the nightingale
never fall silent
as I pass through Eden's garden?

Perhaps
it, too, remembers
the Covenant of Long Ago
in the last hours of night.

But the secret of my heart
remains unknown
to one who cannot hear
the silent melody,
or the music
of rise and fall
that plays gently
in the last hours of night.