Eternal Breath Of Life Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I must outlast my leaving,
to finish what was spun—
a thread released from Silence' hand,
half-known, but not yet One.

The shell falls like an autumn breath,
unclaimed by name or ground,
but breath—the tide of Being's pulse—
will not be prison-bound.

It rests within the womb of time,
where waiting ripens sight,
then wakes within the breath of spring,
more subtle, edged with Light.

Each return unknots a line,
each dawn dissolves a seam,
until the story sheds its voice
and enters what we dream.

So life leans toward the Perfect,
from form into the Whole—
until the Weaver is the cloth,
and gathers every soul.

— January,7,2026