A Few More Rounds Poem by Mystic Qalandar

A few more rounds—
within the stream of souls
in their ceaseless turning
around the temple of brick and stone,
cloaked in the Black Kiswah,
its sacred verses woven
around the Ineffable One—

the Sign this sanctum bears,
who dwells within the hollow
and beyond. We circle,
seeking the nameless, formless Presence,
unbound by name or frame.

I stepped into the procession,
into the eternal curve
with no origin, no end,
and whispered into the silence:
God, I am here.

Will I endure, or dissolve?
No eye perceives the final state.
Yet in that turning, I beheld—
Love, lover, and beloved,
not three, but One;
no trinity, no division—
a single, blazing Sun.

From unseen pasts
to unimagined futures, I stand
beyond the gate, outside the wall,
turning, returning—
a cipher among ciphers,
a single drop
in the fathomless sea,
all drawn, all drawn
toward the One
Eternal Center.

And still, I whisper:
May I remain,
ever circling not in a circle,
but in the sacred spiral
of this holy turning.

—November,24,2025