I Am The First Breath Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I am the first breath.
I am the threshold
where stillness leans into motion,
the invisible hand
that cups the first spark
and fans it toward flame.

Let the winds arrive—
North, East, West, South—
not as masters,
but as dialects
of one vast tongue.

Let consciousness choose
its own weather:
the sharp clarity of cold,
the patience of warm drift,
the chaos that cracks the husk,
the hush that lets the seed rest.

This is not shelter.
This is not surrender.

This is the knowing
of the unnamable—
the wave's deep knowing
of the shore it will never hold,
the touch that recognizes
its own origin
in the thing it touches.

So that I may see
the One
in the many—
not as mask,
but as mirror;

hear the silence
that hums beneath
each spoken thing;

taste the eternal
in the fleeting;

and know
every current
that moves through me
is the same current
returning to itself,
again
and again,
in the endless
cosmic respiration.

—MyKoul