Remembrance Of The First Dawn Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I gaze into the shattered mirror—
each shard a cipher I cannot read,
fragments of broken promises,
the slow erosion of neglect,
illusions worn into delusion.

A story never written,
only etched in memory,
where faint echoes linger
of an untouched self,
a forgotten innocence.

I reach again for the glass.
It splinters once more—
drawing blood from my hands.

Will I ever step beyond this night?
Will joy return as it was
on the First Dawn,
before I was cast in clay?

Beneath the silence,
a constant zikr beats—
a second heart,
threading its pulse
through every wound,
a needle stitching me
back to remembrance.

The call grows stronger—
no longer a whisper,
but a command to awaken,
to be illumined.

A light begins to rise:
it strips the shadows,
pleads for duality to dissolve.

I breathe the breath
that birthed worlds.
Darkness falters, consumed.
I bid farewell
to every death I have died—

and live, at last, in freedom:
whole, eternal, One.

— MyKoul.