The Voice That Calls Poem by Mystic Qalandar

A voice was heard—
from nowhere,
from somewhere,
from everywhere.
Eyes lifted skyward,
a heart implored:
grant me the power
not only to soar outward,
but to turn inward.

Behold the birds of paradise,
moving in silent squadrons,
arcing through the vastness of being,
tracing circles beyond the borders of will.
Their flight is a secret scripture,
their wings inscribed with unseen mysteries.

Northward they journey,
toward the hidden marshes of eternity,
where the Preserved Tablet unfolds its pages,
luminous and inexhaustible—
a treasury of wisdom,
a mirror of knowing,
the decree eternal, engraved.

Yet this truth remains:
to rise upon such wings
requires a will greater than destiny,
a fire stronger than death.
For destiny bends to the soul
that recalls its origin,
and death yields before
the spirit that remembers.

So take up the resolve of these birds,
and cast aside the fetters of fate.
Fly as your essence wills,
not as shadowed decrees command.

Ascend to the brilliance
of your first splendour,
to the light before form,
to the hidden garden
where journeys dissolve—
and beginnings drift,
ungrasped,
forever converging in silence.

—September 30,2025