Awakening To The Light That Was Never Lost Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I walk toward Illumination's core—life's very pulse—
and soon, I shall break into sacred flight,
fleeing the dark claws of encroaching night,
shedding the moon's lunar guise like a threadbare cloak.

Behind me: the whispering dark that feigns adversary;
before me: the sunset's living pyre, my true horizon.
Behind: the swirl geometries of a self-made dream,
a silver phantom I once named wisdom;
ahead: the dream that dreams no more—
the raw remembrance of what never truly perished.

Night's shadows pour themselves into day's wide embrace,
and I lay me down upon soft radiance, my bed of becoming.
In the sunlight, embers throb—
fragments of a fire I never kindled with mortal hands,
yet always blazed beneath me, awaiting only expansion of breast.

I sweep the cold ash from my soles,
and there, upon my shoulder, the falcon perches—
not burden, but vigilant gaze:
his Hawk-eyed regard keeps watch upon the path I have walked,
so I need not turn toward the dark I have outgrown.

My love leans into the ashen dust and breathes—
and behold, the phoenix does not claw up from ruin,
but rises from the ember that was never quenched.
Rise, thou bird of deathless hope! Not as flesh,
but as Buraq—my own soaring intention,
my will unbodied, ascending through the seven gates of being.

Yet these are not distant spheres to vanquish;
they are veils of my own weaving, each a threshold to transcend.
Beyond their final shimmer, the citadel of life stands—
not walled, not barred, not guarded,
for its gates were never forged to imprison.
They stand open because they never existed as doors.

And in that final, silent recognition, I cease all seeking.
I am the dawn arriving at its own horizon.
I am the Light I walked toward,
and the running, the rising, the remembering—
all of it, one single pulse,
fanned by love into the infinite, breathing now as ever.

MyKoul—the sound of the All passing into One.

—MyKoul