Why Did You Make Yourself A Trash Bin? —(Soliloquy) Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Why did you make yourself a trash bin—
Stuffing into your soul
Every scrap of filth,
Every heap of garbage
That never belonged to you—
And all with your own hands?

From the first morning of youth,
You wasted your life:
Like dogs, swine, scavengers,
Tasting the reek of putrid blood,
So drunk on rot
You forgot what was right,
What was wrong.

Poison drowned your veins.
Not a single question rose.
The cart of life swerved,
And you—
Crushed beneath its load—
Collapsed into sleep,
Nameless, unaware.

The soul lay naked—
Every wound, every whisper, every fear
Exposed like an open page.

Then—
That voice.
Cold as Zamharir.
From your dark pit
Where you hung face-down:
"You are numb! "
Salt on every wound.

Countless dark nights passed
Until lightning tore the sky,
Struck your heart,
And you knew:
This body is not your home.
This breath is not your own.
All is a trust. A loan.

Your hands broke the chains,
Flung out the poison,
Washed the heart
In the fountain of light
That flows from the Truth.

And the soul—
At last—
Breathed with a smile,
Like a bird freed,
Touching the open air.