The Seed Of Surrender Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Does a seed know
that it will grow?
Yet within its hush,
a secret stirs—
a whisper
breathed from the unseen,
saying:

"Rest in the cradle of surrender."

It gathers the darkness into itself,
unafraid—
as though an ancient dream
turned once more in sleep.

It trusts the One
who can be neither named
nor seen.

In the depth of stillness,
it spreads its roots
into unseen rivers
that pulse with mercy.

Beneath the veil of earth,
it breathes softly—
a tender dream
woven from the spirit of faith.

Through veils of drowsy light,
it rises toward a sun
it never saw,
yet somehow knew—
long before
the flame was born.

Who teaches it
this sacred becoming?
Who whispers—

"Unfold,
that your leaves may touch
the morning air,
and sway with the heartbeat of the sky."

It wakes not by thought,
nor unfolds by will,
but by that Breath
that gives all form—
the eternal current—
flowing through the unseen,
shaping dust
into remembrance.

In soundless worship,
it fulfills its vow—
to offer beauty
for the gift of life.

It bears fruit,
luminous with inner light—
each seed an echo
of the first command:

"Be… and it was."

How vast this circle of trust—
from a single open palm,
a thousand lives arise.

And through this silent journey,
it knows nothing,
except this truth:
that love itself
blossomed into being.

—October,21,2025