Duality Is The Longest Exile Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Cupid arrived at last—
not the chubby cherub
of folk imagination,
but the angel of the burning spear,
his arrow of love
piercing my heart
with divine necessity.

Still, I lived my dreams of love
so near,
held its joy
inside my tearful eyes,
as though tears were the only currency
with which to purchase
proximity to the Infinite.

Every raqīb—
every watcher, every censor,
every jealous guardian of the veil—
would envy the blood-red streams of love
that flowed from my eyes.

For the mystic knows:
the wound is where the light enters,
and the watcher is but another face
of the One who watches everything.

One final shout—
one final stare—
a crowded road,
an empty air.

The raqīb walked away
without a sound
and disappeared from my sight,
liberating my heart at last
for love.

But freedom is a strange teacher:
she opens the gate
only to reveal
that the walls
were always within.

Now, though every smile I wear
seems bright upon my face,
the raqīb still hides within my mind,
waiting there—
a sentinel at the threshold of the Self,
a gatekeeper who forgot
the gate was never locked.

Though he left
and set me free,
a part of his shadow
still lingers over me—

the watcher watching the watched,
the seer seeing the seen,
subject beholding object—
also subject.

Duality
is the longest exile.

—MyKoul