From The Mystic Nothingness Poem by Mystic Qalandar

In the nothingness—
not a place, but a state,
where no breath entered
and no breath returned,
where thought was unborn,
where neither sleep nor waking stirred,
where no before, no after—
only the eternal Now.

Time was whole, unbroken—
without shadow or gleam,
without night, without day.

And the question was whispered:
Has there not been a span
when Man was not even named,
not yet a murmur in the silence?

From that silence,
life quickened in a hidden seed,
a pulse rising through the unseen,
the void itself beginning to sing.

Milk flowed from the Mother,
like rain distilled in secret,
while the Sun unveiled
its first golden gaze.

The abyss became a womb,
swelling with mystery—
air, water, earth, fire
woven into a single stone of wisdom.

And in time, from mingled drops,
Man was shaped—
to be tested, to be made
a vessel of sight and sound,
to walk the path of choice:
grateful or ungrateful,
faithful or forsaking.

And when the Word Be was spoken,
the cord of stillness was cut—
creation exhaled its first breath,
and the music of being began.


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