The Painter Of Eternal Thought Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I saw—
from the Painter's brush
the seal of existence being imprinted.
The canvas heard the murmur of His Being,
and the universe flowed through His touch.

Around the brush,
the boundless whirled in silent dance;
within each veil of color,
a hymn of some forgotten eternity awoke.

I asked:
'From which birth-star did this splendor fall?
This beauty—whose nameless essence
does it whisper? '

He spoke—
his voice bearing the calm of oceans:
'Every particle breathes first
in the Thought of Eternity.
Before all things, there is silence—
then, a cascade of light.
Even the Creator begins thus:
first, intention—
then the universe's sound: Be.'

My soul trembled.
So we all are reflections
of that timeless Thought—
echoes born from dreaming stillness.

I whispered:
'Then why is this image so mesmerizing? '

He smiled:
'Because it speaks the language of love.
Love turns every drop into an ocean,
every color into essence.'

The heart's inner eye opened—
and I saw:
the Creator, too, sings
the melody of love.
That is why we are the splendors of existence;
why light trembles through every breath;
why even our yearning for dissolution
is yet a form of life.

I asked again:
'Do You hold any desire
that shall never be fulfilled? '

The brush paused—
bending the stream of time—and said:
'I wish to paint an image so vast
that it enfolds the world,
and I Myself
can never find it again.'

Then the secret of existence unveiled itself:
the Creator, in every instant,
calls forth a new soul,
a new visage,
a new song—
and the universe, in wonder, replies:
'This splendor has never been seen before.'

We all—
glimmers of an unspoken Thought,
pearls from love's hidden sea,
sparks of the eternal mystery—
humankind is that masterpiece
in which the Painter of Infinity
has sown the secret of His own Being.

And the universe?
It is but a story of clay—
that once, we were Thought,
and someday,
we shall be Thought again.

—November,3,2025