Toward The Sacred Source Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Beneath the dome of mind,
a nameless storm is born.
Through winding corridors of time
drift echoes of a knowing, lost and worn.

Then Silence moves—
a deep and rising sea;
beneath its patient, endless wave
my breath finds stillness, finally.

From this unbounded quiet
a new melody ascends,
a delicate, trembling thing,
as if the soul itself descends.

Unseen Hands, the Craftsman's own,
draw sound with love's own stroke,
and from that uncreated light
a radiant hymn of being spoke.

It sings to souls within their dreams,
a grace that gathers, warm and deep,
all fractured longings, all lost things,
a tenderness the heart can keep.

Into its rhythm I dissolve—
I flow, I fade within its stream,
until the singer is the sung,
until I am the very theme.

The voice expands, an ocean's tone,
through cosmos' body, resonant,
and I am One with the Oneness,
the universal sacrament.

Here, I lose nothing.
I find my true face
reflected in this sacred sound,
this whispered breath of Divine Grace
on which all turning worlds are bound.

At the heart's silent, central core
I am no longer the one who sings,
but the very song, forevermore.

In this final hour of enlightenment
the mind drowns in ecstasy.
I fall into that harmony
where music sings its totality.

No self remains, no longing, no seeking—
only the One, eternal truth,
singing Its manifestation to be.

— October,23,2025