The Unseen Sun Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Show me the place untouched by gleam—
beneath the shimmer of things known,
wherein the will of stars is sown—
a quiet pulse, a constant stream.
Each word—a faint, receding beam;
each heart—a stone that sits alone,
holding the sun's forgotten tone.

Dawn is patient in the dust—
the seed unfolds the sun within,
its slow, unerring origin.
It climbs through every tender weed,
through rivers following their need,
through ancient, unblinking eyes wherein
a truth is whispered: no true end,
only the turning without cease,
the slow unfolding into peace.

The river knows its ageless course;
the mountain wears its years with grace.
Even the shadow holds a trace—
a warmth beside the fading source—
that hums of an abiding force:
what seems to leave has left no void,
but waits, in stillness, to be joy.

For silence is a fertile ground;
beneath its calm, a rhythm runs.
Within the deep earth, roots are crowned;
the cave, the stone, the burial mound—
all vessels where new light is found.
Rest is the breath before the sound,
the tender dark from which we're wound.

So show me where no light may fall—
and I will show you, vast and deep,
the unseen sun it cradles, all
its warmth the kindness in the clay,
its thought a kindled dawn at play,
whose every ending is a call
from which all things are remade.

—November,2,2025