Dialogue With My True Self Poem by Mystic Qalandar

By the dewy, silent meadow within,
where shadows stretch long and light grows thin—
along the straight broadway of my soul,
my familiar True Self walked beside me,
since the dawn of the day of 'Alast',
when eternity first whispered my name.

When I found her waiting in the hollows of my house,
a specter woven from my deepest breath,
I whispered, trembling, half-afraid:
'I would kiss you—oh, grant me this!
If only it were allowed…
you, my Sofia, my whispered psalm.'

She turned to me, unmoved,
her voice a blade wrapped in silk:
'No, I will not permit such a thing—
not to any who seek to claim me,
least of all one who calls me beloved.'

Then my heart grew heavy as a buried bell,
and I murmured into the hollow of my hands:
'Perhaps I am no tender lover,
no knight with vows gilded in sun—
but I will not forsake this oath,
this ache to love you endlessly.'

I held her gaze—deep, blue, unflinching—
two mirrors facing in the dark.
Until at last, she softened, smiled,
and spoke the secret against my lips:
'Then kiss me without asking.
Know this: when your mouth finds mine,
you kiss only yourself.
I am you. You are me.
Whoever believes we are two
can never truly kiss me.'

And so I did—
and the meadow sighed,
and the path dissolved,
and the day of 'Alast' began again,
'Am I not your Lord? '
'Yes, You are! ' I said.