I Am My Own Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I am my own—
a lily
rooted in the loam of the Nameless,
roots fingering the dark
where no name has ever entered.

I water myself
with my own water—
the well within the well,
the spring without a source.

Lilies rise from that spring.
I am one such lily.

Each drop upon my leaves
is a syllable of the One,
jumping upward
into its own source.

I speak to myself gently
in the tongue of water—
not speech,
but ripple;
not doctrine,
but dew.

The word goes forth from me
and returns to me
as the breath of the Beloved:

I am that I am.

I bloom
in my own water—
petal after petal,
veil after veil,
a white flame
of the Uncreated.

Here,
the garden and the gardener
are one mystery;
the seed and the sower,
one secret;
the wound and the balm,
one opening.

I breathe
my own fragrance—
the attar of the Self
before self,
the perfume of the One
without a second.

It rises through the worlds,
passes through the veils,
wears ten thousand names—
and, having passed through all names,
returns nameless.

Nothing remains
but fragrance.
Nothing speaks
but the One.

And I—
I am my own,
because my own
is the All.

—MyKoul