From Source To Source Poem by Mystic Qalandar

The fig hides its blossoms—
flowers folded in flesh,
secrets of beginning,
whispering in a language
older than words.

It carries memory of genesis,
a quiet truth:
life begins unseen,
revelation opening
only in patience.

The grape, seedless,
offers sweetness without union.
Its blossoms rarely noticed,
yet fruit ripens into abundance—
grace arriving softly,
without trumpet or sign.

Most branches bear flowers:
some radiant
like a dawn-flame,
others hidden,
folded like unspoken prayers.

Every bloom is a vow.
Every fruit, fulfillment.
The rhythm repeats:
"From source you spring,
to source you return."

What would life be
without these signs,
without hidden gifts
that feed body
and spirit alike?

Even in silence
they teach of order—
petals fold like hands,
seeds entrusted to dark,
flowers mirroring
harmony unseen,
yet everywhere present.

The fig, the grape,
and countless quiet teachers
show how the sacred lives
within the ordinary,
how truth ripens
in patience.

The path is not in striving,
but in noticing,
waiting,
marveling.

Without such blossoms,
the world a garden without memory,
a heart without
the soft touch
of the unseen.

Yet always, they bloom.
Always, they give.
Forever flowering in silence—
as it has been,
as it shall be.

—Septemberc6,2025