Ghazal* Poem by Mystic Qalandar

That mole, those rosy cheeks—within the eye's dark core they dwell,
that lightning glance—in passing dream, it lingers still.

That smile strikes the heart's eye, sets its rhythm beating—
love's lamp along the ruinous road, burning, flaring still.

It lights dark lanes with tenderness, with touch—
that warmth abides in silence's core, glowing still.

That word which shied from lips, which fled its saying—
upon the tongue of heart, in every pulse, is flowing still.

That whisper in the hollows of breath, today,
turns to song at dawn and dusk, through seasons turning still.

The traveler tires, yet the way is never finished—
one glance traversed all, in being's lake, knowing still.

In every mirror I seek your face—
in every form, behind each veil's dark mole, you're showing still.

Mykoul—that name faltering even on the lips—
within the heart of night, as prayer, bestows still.

That face once appeared beyond the mirror's edge—
as truth's own light, within my heart's throne-room, glowing still.

Entangled in your hair, I tied the knot of loving—
through those winding paths, the way of acting flows still.

What once I named forbidden—the touch, the approach—
that very touch descends as prayer, in act, growing still.

Within your eyes I saw the ocean of all keeping—
that sea of reality, through every ghazal, flows still.

Nearness taught me the discipline of distance—
that separation on my heart's throne sits still.

Love for you became the bridge from metaphor to meaning—
your face the medium, in heart's mirror, showing still.

Mykoul—what I took for the heart's locked portal—
that door swings open on the unseen of unseen, standing still.

—February, 15,2026