River Of Origin Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Gentle light waves, a moonlit night—
The wind hums melodies soft and slow.
As I await the rain's descent,
I wonder when life's river will
Quench summer's scorching fire below.

Will this river, from death's dark vale,
Bear me home to the primal sea?
It holds me close—no space between—
Bound by a vow older than time.
It flows with music, a sacred hymn
Sung to the heart of its waiting deep.
So here I rest and softly pray
To kiss that shore—awake, set free.

I long to meet the sea—yet pause to wonder:
Is not this river born of that same source?
Flowing from and back into the sea,
One endless, undivided course?
This thought makes my heart swell fonder:
I yearn to truly see, to know—
But does the sea, in vastness yonder,
Ever gaze back? Does it bestow?

Though the current tempts me to let go,
My soul replies, a gentle plea:
"Don't rush the tide—by dusk, you'll know:
You are the river. You are the sea."

If calm can rise from ego's storm,
Then grace will meet me—whole, complete.
While I remain in river's form,
I'll rest beneath this truth, replete.
Let illusions fade like morning haze—
May inner tempests find release,
With ancient music from timeless days,
And the sea's unending peace.

No matter what the restless mind may say,
I will not let its turmoil wash away
This knowing of the sea—of unity.