The Dawn Of Primal Light Poem by Mystic Qalandar

The dawn of primal light—
not the sun's flame,
but the lamp kindled before breath was born.

A ray slips through eternity's veils,
unsealing the cipher of Being.

Birds reply in chorus—
winged letters inscribed
upon the tablet of the unseen.

Their song is an alphabet of silence;
they know time is no prison,
but a gate that turns inward.

This is the day of flight,
when ascent comes not of body but of essence.
The day when opposites clasp,
when union unveils its hidden face.

I am the pilgrim-bird of love.
One wing holds the Orient of beginnings,
where fire gives birth to form;
the other, the Occident of endings,
where form returns to fire.

In the tavern of the endless sky
I dissolve in the intoxication of flight.

I rise from the rim of time's circle,
cast off the mask of cosmos,
even the beauty of clay's mirror.

Thought ground to dust,
reforged as a hymn of intent.

The throne of grandeur dissolves
into its Source;
the heart's hidden well pours
into the blaze of the Absolute.

I rise—
from the silent cipher of zero,
where nothing and infinity embrace,
toward the orbit of unseen destinies,
the spiral dance of the unmanifest.

Not for crowns—they are shadows.
Only to break from clay's lattice,
to scatter in the wide expanse
where measure and place dissolve.

And there—a whisper:
a secret vowel of eternity,
sounded only to my essence:

You are of dust,
yet your trace shines in the stars.
You walk the earth,
yet your dwelling is in the heights of the One.

—September 15,2025