The Mosaic Of Meaning Poem by Mystic Qalandar

A duality encircles me—
light and shadow—
each a silent envoy
from realms beyond sight.
They gather not to wound,
but to stir the hidden sanctuaries
within my soul's deep keep.

For radiance and obscurity alike
are sages in the holy school
where my spirit is forged.
Behind me blooms a past—
celestial gardens unfolding,
pathways woven from starlit threads,
leading to the ancient portal
of my innermost self.

Before me, the present descends
like corridors carved in cool stone,
where forgotten echoes
slumber in the chambers of the heart.
At consciousness' threshold,
guilt rises—a faint bell's chime—
not to chastise,
but to unveil
a simple, profound truth:

My only fault
was loving through pure heart-sight
while my eyes still wandered
in half-lit realms.

Then stirs the quiet storm—
tenderness braided with ache,
affection mingled with sorrow—
crossing the inner bridge
to the sacred chamber
where the feminine flame
keeps eternal vigil.

Moments of closeness,
echoes of pain,
circle the mind like waters
around the citadel of spirit.
Within that fortress,
a fire begins its sacred work—
burning veils away,
touching essence's core,
revealing gold
beneath the gathered shadows.

Once bound
to shimmering illusions
of unanchored vows,
I wandered shifting plains
seeking serenity.
Life's endless waters fell—
carving, shaping—reminding me
what must be released.

Yet in scattering—
my being cast like
luminous fragments
across destiny's floor—
I did not yield.
For the soul remembers
that dissolution
is only the first breath
of rebirth.

Then came the soft severance—
the mercy-blade of freedom
cutting threads no longer needed.
Bending over still waters
beneath my inner kingdom's walls,
a revelation found me:

I am crafted to endure
every storm sent to awaken me.
A glimmer of light moved
through the depths,
and remembrance rose—
not sudden,
but like dawn blooming over
a world long waiting for morning.

I rose from inward silence,
and with sacred calm
placed the crown back—
not as a symbol of power,
but as the recognition
of a truth long forgotten.

With hands guided
by the Unseen One,
I gathered the scattered fragments,
shaping them
into a mosaic of meaning—
a star-born emblem
of all endured,
all become.

Upon my heart rests
this medallion of triumph—
not proclaiming victory,
but honoring the holy battles
my soul has crossed,
bearing witness
to the Divine strength
that carried me gently, faithfully,
into the light of myself.

—November,20,2025