To Whisper The Hidden Secret, O Sweet-Voiced Dove Poem by Mohammad Younus

To whisper the hidden secret, O sweet-voiced dove—
You are my silence, my song, my breath above, O Truth.

The field of light bears fruit when the soul is clear;
Come reap your essence, O seeker of love, O Truth.

Unveil your beauty, O flame in the whirling trance—
You are the sun, the dance, the star's bright glove, O Truth.

Scatter your roses across the yearning soil;
Receive the weary in your sacred cove, O Truth.

None is loyal but You, O Source of breath and being—
Ever-living, ever-flowing—fountain of, O Truth.

So much forgetting, so far the exile's cry—
From where was I cast, and what am I of, O Truth?

From whose hand was I shaped, whose fire was I formed?
I am not apart—I'm the Belovèd's glove, O Truth.

O painting, chosen art of the unseen Hand—
You are never apart from the Painter's love, O Truth.

You seem estranged, yet hold the root of all—
So near, so known, so within and above, O Truth.

Each atom whispers praise in sacred hush—
Our Lord, our Maker, the One we serve, O Truth.

O Soul of souls, the Origin and the End—
The final Name all signs speak of, O Truth.

O MyKoul, in the dust you wear a crown—
Without a banner, yet king thereof, O Truth.

The nightingale weeps for the scent of the Rose—
Yet You are both the thorn and grove, O Truth.

The ocean laughs at the drop's despair—
You are the wave, and I, its move, O Truth.

MyKoul, dissolve in this endless tide—
For You are the seeker, and You the Beloved, O Truth.

MyKoul