Innate Remembrance Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Every cavern, every bough,
drinks deep from the well of remembrance;
held in the earth's slow, seasonal turn,
the flower yields its secret and unfurls.

Beyond the veil of night,
the sun rises into itself,
spilling its grace across the valley floor—
warm on the stone, a hush on the grass.

In the quickening wind,
an unsayable name lies folded in breath;
in the cradle of every wave,
a gesture kin to prayer.

The bird's wing carries the pulse of praise,
and even in the hollows of silence
a low, unbroken hum remains.

An immortal melody glows in the atom;
a radiant beauty is throned in the dust.

What the heart has captured,
the tongue has yet to find—
for in the depth of stillness,
the loudest question speaks.

Born of the quickening tide,
this is the pure, the innate return:
where the seeker dissolves into the sought,
and remembrance dances itself into light.

This remembrance
is no breath clenched in the throat,
nor a silence brittle and cold—
but a force rising from the ancient root
to open the inner eye.

It shakes the dust of illusion from the petal's edge;
it is the sun's defiant witness in the dark.

It draws the soul from the margins of the mind
and plants it steady at the center—
refusing to let the heart stagnate
in the frozen alleys of the indifferent.

MyKoul, this is no fruit of mere intention,
nor a child born of seeking.

It is the heart's primordial cry—
the Divine remembering itself within:
no pause,
no shore—
but a river in eternal flow,
where the source and the sea
meet as one.

—February,19,2026