Let It Become A Masterpiece Now Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Now—let this life become a masterpiece:
each breath a brushstroke
on the canvas of the unseen,
a sacred mark traced where form
surrenders to the formless.

Dance in the light before beginnings—
where no first dawn touched the deep,
no ending casts its shadow—
only the dreamer, too awake to sleep.

Look at the stars: their silent fire
an ancient scripture, older than the word
that named the sun, yet newborn
in every waking of the heart.

Circumambulate the temple of the transcendent.
Let temporal thought of being, of duality,
burn through the flame of fana—
until the heart becomes light upon light,
and the self forgets its borrowed name.

Let joy flow like an endless river,
a hidden spring rising from the core of being—
where the infinite breathes through living and nonliving,
and silence flowers unseen.

Engrave the ecstasy of this moment
upon the crystal of timelessness,
where moments neither come nor go
but shine like facets of a single jewel.

What lies beyond the self
dwells not in distant heavens,
nor in the measured worlds of thought.

No temple can contain it,
no doctrine preserve it,
no sacred code hold its face.

No horizon encloses the boundless.
No clock can measure eternity.
It moves like stillness, speaks like silence,
and echoes through all things.

Before the first star burned
in the womb of the void—
before the first word
was breathed into worlds—
before space became cradle and grave—
the One remained.

And when the final expansion
returns to its source—
when the last prayer falls silent
and the last song folds its wings—
the One remains.

The silence beneath all silences,
the ground of every ground—
luminous, unborn,
beyond every orbit of creation.

Closer than breath.
Nearer than the pulse.
Closer than the witness within—
yet vaster than galaxies
turning through the long labyrinth of time.

Beyond every place thought has ever traveled,
beyond every measure mind has ever made—
what is called Zaat cannot be spoken,
yet shines through every blossom.

So live this moment fully—
not as a fragment adrift in time,
but as a clear mirror
through which the boundless pours,
abundant and free.

Let the heart open like a lotus
upon still water—rooted in earth,
turned toward the sun.
Each petal a step upon the path.

Each dawn a quiet surrender.
Each falling dewdrop—the separate self
returning to the sea.

To that depth where angels bowed,
to that truth the Sufis sang,
to that first awakening of reverence—
let the heart return.

Then every step becomes
eternity in motion—
each glance a tajallī,
each turning a devotion,
each circuit a remembrance
around the Kaabah of the heart.

Each breath becomes a thread of light,
woven by invisible hands
into a seamless garment
no eye can fully behold.

Until the seeker and the sought
fade into a single point—
and the final teaching arrives
without words or sound:

The One you sought was never elsewhere.
The One was always here.

—MyKoul