An Echo Of First Breath Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I still wonder why she loved me,
for I was never shaped in her likeness,
not molded from her breath,
nor bearing the first essence
she had poured into the world.

On the day I was summoned,
I looked into her eyes
and saw myself returned,
not wholly me, nor wholly her,
but the echo of a promise
spoken before time began.

For in that meeting,
we did not simply choose
to walk together for a season;
we awakened an ancient vow,
a covenant whispered
before the stars were lit—
a vow reminding us we are one.

In her presence,
I was carried back to the origin,
into the garden of beginnings,
where love was not forged by choice
but by decree—by breath, by word.

And yet—I faltered.
The loom of forever slipped
through my hands;
its bright threads unraveled.

I turned from what was sacred,
forgot the vow etched in her being,
the vow woven deep
into creation's marrow.

But vows of origin
are not unmade by failing;
they endure beyond forgetting,
rooted deeper than turning away.

What was spoken before the stars
outlives the dust of our choices.
Though I faltered, the vow remains—
not bound to me, nor to her,
but to the silence that first breathed us,
to the decree that births all love.

And so it endures—
solemn, untouchable, whole—
a vow unbroken,
written in the marrow of creation.