Before The Real Named Itself Poem by Mystic Qalandar

First,
before time—
but what existed before time?
Time itself?
And in that time,
what was there
when nothing held a name,
no form,
no manifestation;
only non-existence—
void—
a realm of darkness,
even free from the shadows of
profound obscurity,
where no reflection of the sun
ever touched the mire.

Then—
a spark.
The sun
separated it from itself,
yet held it bound within flames
bursting from its own being;
eternal,
pre‑eternal,
immortal.

What is this spark?
A faint glimmer of the sun—
no word for"self, "
no feeling of"fire";
only the sun's nature
guides it—
swift,
precious.

Then it came to earth,
yet its gaze remained fixed
on the heavens—
from pre‑eternity:
the sight never wavered.

Clutching the light firmly,
a thought unfurled—
in the redness of stone,
in its hardness;
here is imprisoned that river
which once flowed
from the ocean of pre‑eternity.

And now I am no longer that river
that I knew
in pre‑eternity.

Then the thought burst open—
like flowers in the rain;
with threads of memory
binding it to the source,
we saw the river
flowing back toward the ocean.

We adorned
our forgotten reality,
and learned
that duality
can be left speechless.

Now we craft maps of unity,
dream of worlds beyond ourselves;
yet that ancient rhythm
stays within us—
the same pulse
that carried us far from the sun.

To see,
to know,
to reach,
to rise—
from darkness
into light.

We emerged conscious—
as we are;
now,
as ever before.

—December,30,2025