The Eternal Writer Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I was carved of light—
a trace in the unseen flame,
pre-decreed before the dawn
to whirl upon the page of time,
before its ink could fade.

Or perhaps, I am the reed—
hollowed by love,
singing through the breath
of the Infinite Scribe.
My lines rise and vanish,
yet each curve realigns
to the Word before words began.

I am both—the revolving pen
and the Hand that moves it;
the witness and the seen,
the breath that writes itself anew
in every pulse of Being.

In this secret dance,
I am the circle and the axis,
the turning of fate's own wheel.
No other sign bears such wonder—
to script and erase
the dream of its own making
by the trembling of a single hand.

So I whirl, not walk,
to the tune of a burning flute
whose notes are woven of silence.
Through the music of remembrance,
I chase the shadow of the One
only to lose myself in its blaze.

While others clasp their mirrored worlds,
I cast mine into the sea of Him.
For what flows through me
is not my will,
but the tide of His Desire—
the eternal current of breath and light.

Of His own sigh He uttered me,
and when I bend to seek,
it is His yearning seeking through me.

Thus I dance in repose,
a turning stillness,
a motion at rest—
the drop ablaze in the Ocean's heart,
rejoining the Source
through the joy of returning.

—October 6,2025