Freedom At Last Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Freedom at last—
long sought,
long prayed for,
through ages upon ages of longing.

The primordial state
to which I ceaselessly return:

seated here
among thick, thorny bushes,
apparently breathing,
yet dead and buried,
sinking into the lowest
of the lowest layers of earth—
lost, unsearchable.

How am I to know
what has brought me down
from the heights of the highest stars?

And yet—joy:
beginning,
but without end—
the journey of journeys.

Worldly temptations,
and even spiritual ones,
quietly laid aside.

These are the things
I write
and translate
for myself alone:

I wipe clean a mirror,
place it in my own hands,
and look—
not for another face,
but to behold
my true image.

—MyKoul