The Grace Of Perpetual Return Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Each breath,
each turn of life,
each unfolding revelation
comes not as a sudden flame,
but as dawn
spilling its slow gold
through the cloth of time.

We step from the river of moments,
where past and future
fold into stillness,
and drift
into a quiet center—
a pool without edge,
without beginning,
without end.

Here, in the pause between
motion and rest,
the soul turns inward
to meet its own silent pulse—
the constant beneath all change,
the breath beneath all becoming.

And in this gentle return,
this folding back,
there blooms recognition—
serene, complete—
that every cycle is a sacred opening,
every ending
a veil
for the one eternal beginning.

—November,18,2025