Broken Heart, Dawn's Apparition Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Having crossed storms of dust and flesh,
the soul was slowly tended back to shape—
it was the wound itself that taught me
how a heart is healed.

Every scar, every old wound,
is a small window radiant with light;
in the dark of night
I have never stopped searching.

I loved so completely I became pure spirit,
though the fire and gunpowder of the self
scattered me to pieces.
In carelessness I forgot the ancient covenant—
and its breaking taught me
that even trust can shatter.
Still, at every turning, I have kept faith
with hope made new.

What I long for is to carve my life so
the heart's own blood
turns every cruelty of time to light.
An ember of light-upon-light,
warm beneath its ash,
and a heart's steadfastness
became, at last, an unfailing lamp.

The self's hungry gaze—I always turned from it,
and in these broken particles
I find the beauty of what cannot be explained:
sometimes a jewel,
sometimes a possibility,
sometimes a rare beginning—
in the deserts of chance
I go on searching for traces of joy.

Sometimes this body has felt
like nothing more than a block of stone.
A dwelling, yes—
but when was it ever truly home?
I have asked the clouds, so often,
this question of the heart:
why was longing written
into the terms of being alive?

But whenever dawn's light comes,
soft and unguarded,
a faint message moves
through the breathing air:

Begin again. Live—and keep smiling.

The steps may be slow,
but I stay on the road.

I will not give silence
permission to become death,
for I know that even sorrow
is a form of dignity.
Not every fall must leave a mark.
Many hands may yet let go of mine—
but what slips away from me
is not my loss.

Sleep, then,
in the name of the Unseen
still hidden from all eyes;
in the name of that loving soul
that rises, again,
out of its own ash.

What is lost,
and what is still to be made,
is a soul forever underway—
one whose continuity
answers to no fixed throne,
and which, across the whole reach
of time and place,
is both the question Be
and the answer Let it be.

---

O companion of the lonely night—
this storm, too, will pass.
These wounds, too, will heal.
But the light that grew out of the heart
will go on scattering itself
through every handful of ash.

Despite the distance,
despite the weariness,
this soul keeps moving.
The journey continues,
and that continuing
is survival,
is a kind of perfection,
is the mirror
in which the secret of being
stands, pointless and precise,
like a single point of light.

And when there is no destination,
every step becomes one—
this is gnosis,
this is the thread
that, shaped into the word Be,
stretches and contracts
between the Everlasting and the Eternal
in a single instant.

And this is love—
that rises, again and again,
out of its own ashes,
and each time
sets out
on the journey,
new.

—MyKoul