The Flute Calls, Weaving Low And High Tunes Poem by Mohammad Younus

The flute calls, weaving low and high tunes,
Its echoes reaching deep through soul's valleys.
It stirs the silence, long in sacred slumber,
Born of the boundless, eternal sea.

"Come to me, draw near, " the flutist pleads,
"I am the source, your sacred wellspring.
Each step you take toward this hallowed song
Unites your heart with creation's rhythm."

Wisdom ascends on the winds it stirs,
A melody ancient, yet fresh in me.
Its timeless voice whispers through the ages,
Breath of the lips that birth all life to be.

MyKoul