Internal Dialogue Poem by Mystic Qalandar

O Younus Koul,
the rivers do not reach the sea—
they remember it.
Each current circles back
to the vastness within its drop.
Multiplicity is only the sea
dreaming itself as many paths.

Do not call darkness exile;
it is light resting in its own shadow.
Even the sin you name
is but a curtain woven by mercy—
so your eye may learn to see
without sight,
and find the One
behind the shimmer of twoness.

The leaf that falls
is the tree breathing outward,
the wind its whispered return.
All motion is a single gesture
turning about its still center—
circle within circle,
Being folding into Being.

Do not bind the word in shape.
Language is foam
on the silent sea of the Real.
Between one breath and another,
the universe exhales—
and nothing sighs back.
Each sound is the echo
of the One speaking to Itself.

Drink from what flows beneath your ribs,
where source and seeker are one stream.
There, in the quiet before thought,
the drop knows it was never apart,
and the ocean smiles
through the mirror of its own dew.

Wound no soul in the name of healing.
Truth divides only illusion—
discernment's edge is light,
and love its steady hand.
What breaks is the shell,
so that Being may shine naked
in its undivided home.

Walk softly through the many forms.
Let your breath fall as prayer,
your speech as fragrance.
Carry the lamp unseen—
its flame consumes no path,
yet reveals every traveller
as the journey itself.

And when the storm of thought
tears through the fields of silence,
become the mirror that gathers stars.
Silent.
Always silent.
Know this: you are never the seeker,
nor the sought,
but the stillness between their meeting—
that luminous patience
where the One gazes
infinite into Itself.

—November,7,2025