Morning Mist Poem by Mystic Qalandar

From the mountain of existence,
The morning mist slowly lifts—
A soft veil of dawn's first light
Enfolds the fading dark.
On dew-soaked grass,
The soul begins to step.
Each blade, each leaf,
A mirror of the Lord of all.

Melodious birdsong,
The hymn of flowing mountain streams—
They guide my silence.
Their song stirs echoes of eternity,
And I see the river,
Flowing its ancient course, singing.
From where it came,
Perhaps I too have come.

Day by day,
Life finds its natural hue.
The sun, like gold,
Descends upon my face—
Its light, a silent promise:
That once again I shall be
Absorbed in the eternal light.

In soil, in moss, in rain,
I breathe the scent of time's first dawn.
And I feel—
My illusions,
The deceits of self,
Falling like autumn leaves.

In nature's hush,
I find myself anew—
Not apart from the world,
Nor it from me.
But rather, we are:
One song,
One breath,
One existence.

I am
A wild, wandering soul,
Roots deep in earth,
Eyes lifted to the sky.