The Soul's Vigil Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Is it to rouse my hidden soul
that the hives hum without cease,
their golden labour burning
even in night's chamber?

The water-wheel of thought turns—
eyecups fill with radiance,
become the heart's subtle ears.
They listen not to language,
but to currents without syllables,
to whispers that arrive as breath,
shaping silence into a luminous presence.

Yes. My soul is awake.
Awake—wide awake.
No drowsiness casts its veil;
no sleep dares to bind it.
It does not stumble into dream.
It keeps watch—unblinking.

Its vision walks the far horizons;
its hearing drinks the unseen melody
rising from shores of immeasurable quiet.
Each note, a mirror;
each silence, a door.

The soul watches, whole and unbroken—
not a fragment lost to the vastness,
but the vastness itself gathered,
a circle without circumference.

It keeps vigil with the stars,
its eyes twin lamps of eternity,
its silence deep as galaxies turning.
In its wakeful core, the heavens grow still,
and all that is shines, intact, within its gaze.

—September 11,2025