A Green Point Within Poem by Mystic Qalandar

At the horizon's edge,
no fire burns—
it is the wind within me
rising outward as flame.
I did not stop it,
did not even know—
the desert is not outside me.
It has spread beneath my mind,
where every word loosens into sand.

Silence is louder here,
and the mirage in my eyes
keeps chasing itself.
Am I walking—
or is desire walking within me,
losing itself at every turn?
Is this the breath of ego,
or something older—
a sigh bound to me
before I knew my name?

In this heat,
my shadow loosened, then dissolved.
Night arrived, yet darkness
could not stand before this fire.
Even the stars paused,
then slipped quietly
into my silence.

They say there was a covenant—
a faint light trembles somewhere,
but the path now drifts
like smoke in air.
I touched my heart—
no garden remained,
only the scent of burnt grass,
and a hidden dampness
deep within the ash.

The dragon is no creature—
it is my own breath
turning back upon me,
hungry for its source.
I do not run.
I do not remain.
I watch—
by what name
does this fire call itself?

Then, in the center
of the burning moment,
a coolness descends—
not water, not air,
but a remembering:
I did not make myself.
It falls like a single drop,
and the dragon, for the first time,
hesitates before its own gaze.

Covered in ash,
I feel it—
a small green point within.
Not yet a garden,
not yet in bloom,
but something stirring,
ready to reveal
its essence—
the true self.

— MyKoul