After The Wave Poem by Mystic Qalandar

After the wave,
no spectacle—
only the sigh returning to sea.

The shore stays,
intimate with what is true:
sea and shore, never two.

From deep waters, forms rise,
without effort, without asking—
born of the ocean,
to the ocean they go,
carrying the Reed's hidden cry.

Names settle lightly.
The "I" performs its part—
no center, no crown—
a flute for the Wind alone.

Being abides within the play,
wearing forms as sunlight wears
the rainbow's brief dress,
untouched, unchanged.

Nothing seeks oneness,
nothing flees the many.
Every glimpse is whole—
needing no greater story.

Love quiets its frenzy,
breathes boundless through things.
No blaze, no sacred fire—
only welcome,
a mirror clear of self.

The Gaze widens, free—
dancing in all it meets:
palms open like lotuses,
footsteps echoing drums,
words weaving prayer,
an everyday sacrament.

No journey back to Truth—
no one ever left.
The sea never claimed the wave;
it rippled into knowing,
the world a whirling song.

Existence murmurs
through the ink of forms.

—February,6,2026