I Write Revelation Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I listen—
a moment suspended in eternity's breath,
then cast my robe into the wind,
riding the wave of a coming storm.
The cry of circling birds
dissolves into David's hidden song.

Revelation is a whisper of light,
a secret folded in the feathers of silence.
Behind the trembling veils of day and shadow,
an unseen cantor calls—
a voice born from the soul's own stillness.

It is a cosmic symphony.
And I,
its scribe, its vibration, its echo.
Within me moves a luminous tide
flowing between perishing and birth,
bursting as the endless flare of being.

I shall cleave the heavens,
tear these paper-clouds of illusion,
open fissures in the dark—
until the stars find speech,
and I may read their radiant scripture.

To move is to transmute.
This is worship.
This is the secret of descent.
I am a particle of the infinite,
waiting for its embrace
to be inspired that my essence
is the Overwhelming brilliance.

I am that which shines within.
I am that which beholds me—
bound to a single, burning line
falling from the horizon of self,
ever descending,
ever flaming in the chalice of heart.

Time sleeps in the cup of my palm;
its pulse answers my touch.
I am time—
and time, my only reflection.

I hold direction as one holds a blade,
for truth reveals itself
only through motion, through becoming.
In the tension of duality,
unity begins to sing.

And then—
I shall breathe the divine breath,
unweave the final illusion of Otherness.
For the One,
present in all horizons,
remains—
even in absence.

—October,17,2025