Exploring The Enigma Poem by Mystic Qalandar

This is not a riddle
for clever hands to solve,
not a knot to sever—
but a threshold,
a living edge
where breath is caught
in its own astonishment.

Why is there something rather than nothing?
The question breathes itself
before the mouth can shape it.

What silence lies beneath this asking?
What emptiness
is fuller than all answer?

What is ultimately real behind the changing world?
The river names itself
in every turning,
yet remains unnamed.

The mountain wears a thousand masks
of weather and stone—
and underneath, unmoved,
stillness wears the mountain.

How can the One appear as the many
without ceasing to be One?

As flame is one
in every tongue of fire,
as ocean is one
in every wave that rises,
falls, and rises—
the many are the One's
own breathing.

Who is the 'I' that seeks the Truth?
The question turns
like a blade that cuts
the hand which holds it.

The seeker is the seeking,
the seer is the seen—
and all that seeks
was never lost.

The Real hides in plain sight,
veiled by nothing
but the looking.

It pours through everything
like light through windows—
we are the glass, the grime,
the gazing, and the glory.

Approach too close
and language falls away
like garments in a fire.

What remains?
The silence
that sang there all along
beneath the noise of naming.

This is not accumulation—
this is unmaking.
Not adding answers
but removing
the wall between
the eye and what it sees,
until the seer
and the seen
are one
unbroken
field of knowing.

And at the last,
the oldest mystery:

That which seeks
is that which is sought.

The One looks through
the many eyes of longing,
and Reality—
in the act of being found—
discovers
it was never
lost.

—MyKoul