Inner Timing Poem by Mystic Qalandar

The seed knows—
before thought or season—
the hour etched in its being,
where becoming remembers
the first covenant.

No outer memory guides its unfolding;
no voice urges it toward a bridge.
Inside the husk sleeps an ancient knowing,
a silent decree breathed
at the primal pact of matter and light.

To grow is not to change,
but to unveil what has always been.
One unfolds only what was eternally sealed
in the name of one's own Be—
deaf to the clamor of the world's demands.

The seed does not chase the sun
nor bargain with the rain.
It rests—whole, untorn—
in the certainty of an unseen rhythm
that turns stillness into spring.

Its opening follows union, not force;
remembrance, not command.
What opens, opens
when the inner clock
meets the Eternal Now.

— January, 31,2026