The Mystic Hymn Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Like an unwritten hymn,
unnamed, concealed,
layer upon layer of silence
veils its face.
Its words are not words,
but signs,
gestures of the infinite,
inscribed in a script
no tongue has uttered.

The Maker's story,
the song of becoming,
breathes across
the fabric of existence—
yet hidden it remains,
awaiting the eye
that can read in shadow
and recognize in light.

Some tales open themselves
like flowers,
their fragrance given,
their secrets spent.
But most remain sealed—
ancient, unborn—
veiled in stillness,
carried in flame,
remembered by the soul
though never named.

To lovers of wisdom,
to eyes washed in longing,
these truths descend,
and these truths ascend.

Yet among seekers, mystics too,
many hover at the threshold—
their words sound hallowed,
yet their hearts are hollow.
Like smoke in astral winds,
they drift, afraid
of the nearness of truth.

They bear the image of the Divine,
spark of breath,
mirror of eternity—
yet cling to the net of mind,
a lattice of shadows.
Still, truth breaks through,
a flash across the dark,
a glimpse of the vastness
that no vessel can contain.

For the Unknown alone
knows the All.
The Unknown alone
answers the call of the seeker.
The Unknown is known
only by the Unknown—
and when the seeker dissolves,
only the Known remains.

—September 2,2025