The Search For Love Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I long to touch
my origin—
that which is sacred,
divine,
nothing,
yet everything.

It lives in me—
eternal,
my beginning,
my creator—
warmth woven in light,
a presence brimming with love.

But how do I reach it?
It is subtle,
neither body nor soul—
just a fragrance,
a whisper
beyond touch.

In the heart's depths,
hidden desires
cling to it
like an earthly beloved,
like a dream
branded *romance*—
but this is not the love
I seek.

My true beloved—
the soul's own truth—
is free,
boundless,
untouched by captivity.

Love…
is to perceive fully
what lies beyond all.
Yet this wholeness
becomes
astonishment.

It has no form,
no name—
sometimes a breath,
sometimes a weight—
but when we forget unity,
when we chase fragments,
confuse beauty for the beautiful,
sever splendor from the splendid—
we are torn
from Absolute Reality.

And then we ask:
*Love… what is it? *
When we are scattered,
broken,
how can we know?

In stolen glances,
hollow words,
lifeless exchanges—
love becomes deception.
The heart drifts from truth,
dreams curdle to lies.

No—
this is not love,
not what I know,
not what I crave.

In love,
you must surrender
your *self*,
your limits—
but never
your truth.

Yet where is such love?
Where every layer
is a mask,
where no face feels like home,
no space safe?

Falling is not necessary—
but to wither
in loneliness?
Possible.

For I love
what exists beyond the body's cage.
Will anyone dare
to love
their own transcendence?
Or will the thought
shatter
their fragile mind?

In the end—
we each have
our own version,
but the meaning
is one.

And perhaps
the love I seek
will stay lost
until *That*—
the soul's whisperer—
as a lover,
quietly,
unveils the secret:

Jumla mashuq ast o ashiq parda-e-een.
(The whole is the beloved,
and the lover is but a veil.)

—MyKoul