The Song Of Creation Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Waterfalls do not wait—
they lean forward, carving rock,
trembling, sounding the deep Hu,
pressing through valleys,
seeking their waiting rivers.

And the rivers, calmly laughing,
quietly dancing,
move in sacred rhythm,
flowing toward their mission—
into the sea's embrace.
Their origin, their return,
a circle without end,
like time itself, ever flowing... Hu...

Flowers ache to open—
spilling fragrance.
Butterflies hover, restless,
brushing color on petals.
Honeybees, drawn by the silent call,
hurry to the blossom in great quiet—
to kiss in gratitude,
to sip the sweet offering,
for food, for honey... Hu... hu... hu...

The wind carries this sweetness
into summer's fever.
Clouds break, pouring down their gift,
to soothe the earth's dry throat. Hu!

Trees reach deep into the dark,
anchored by roots that drink
the deep, dark water,
so they may rise high toward the sun,
never forgetting the ground that holds them—
Huuu... rising... hu... falling...

Waves collapse into waves,
ripples chase their own tails,
meet the shore with a kiss,
and return again to the source.
A timeless pulse, resounding the Big Hu—
their only faith:
to emerge from the sea,
and go back into the sea.

A flower, if it does not bloom,
remains incomplete.
Its silence a longing for... hu...

The sun pours its gold
into earth's waiting arms,
and moonlight each night
leans down to kiss the sea—
Hu in light, Hu in silver shadow.

So tell me, who are we
to believe we were meant to be alone?
Is it not the One who moves
within the whole design,
weaving breath into every moment—

كُلَّ يَوْمٍ هُوَ فِي شَأْنٍ
Kulla yawmin huwa fee shān
"Every day He is upon some task."

And still the rivers flow,
the flowers dare to bloom,
the waves return—
each whispering His secret,
each singing His name,
each rising and falling,
soft and vast,
the music of being itself—

hu... Big Hu... H u u u...

—september 3,2025.