The Blue Hour Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Between sunset's last ember
and twilight's soft veil,
the blue hour quietly unveils—
a threshold between worlds,
a silence where eternity leans close.

Birds vanish into hidden groves,
not merely to rest,
but to return to the soul's abode.
They fold their wings
in the ark of remembrance,
dreaming tomorrow's flight.

Children—seekers of dawn—
reluctant to surrender to night:
Their small dreams,
fragments of a greater vision;
Their nightmares,
whispers of paths not yet walked.

Mothers,
guardians of the eternal womb,
sing lullabies like ancient hymns—
half command, half prayer.
Their voices weave veils of safety,
guiding fragile spirits
across the dark river of forgetting.

Yet even this mystic hour is fleeting.
Its sapphire fire dims,
its hidden gate closes,
for darkness must yield
to the coming radiance.

In the space of a breath,
light pours back into the world.
The seekers awaken,
their eyes rimmed with eternity,
their breath remembering blue.

—August 31,2025.