Time: Your Origin Poem by Mystic Qalandar

You call me—
as if I run away.
But has the wind
ever stopped blowing?

This is your illusion.
Has a river ever
ceased its flowing?
Is the ocean its grave?

Or does it rise again,
a new river
from the depths?

I do not flee.
You pass through me,
rushing ahead.
I do not leave you—
I unfold.

I do not vanish,
nor am I born,
nor do I die.
I have always been.

Every moment
you lost—was me.
Your tears,
your laughter,
your stillness,
your motion,
the wind's whisper—
I was there,
flowing through you.

You tried to hold me—
planted your feet in the river,
piled sandbags
of hope and memory—
but I do not stop
for longing.

Listen closely:
"I am time. I am the ocean! "
Can you not see?
I am your soul.

I am not silence—
I am sacred stillness.
Not nothingness—
but what remains
when all else fades.

Before nothing was,
I was.
After all is gone,
I remain.

You cannot step
outside of me.

O wonderer,
you cannot cut me—
I am the pulse
in your breath.

You are not flowing—
you are turning back.
And I,
whom you call ‘time, '
am your soul's rhythm—
the river and the ocean,
your beginning.

You are the echo.
I am the source.