Long Live The Water Poem by Mystic Qalandar

When the Euphrates at last
hears its own voice,
and in the stone veins of mountains,
water forgotten by drought
begins its slow ascent toward light—

When parched eyes find the falling cascade,
and the traveler on the endless path
awakens to the pulse of his own steps—

When the houris step from their tents—
no longer specters of memory,
but the very breath of spring—
and the maidens
who once went out to fill their jars
return, though they had never truly left,
lifting white shrouds from the sleeping water—

When the ancient circle closes once more,
when poplars remember
the lost language of green,
and the patient crane
writes its silent verses at the pond's edge—

When no sword is tempered
for the sake of a single drop,
when the jackal forgets the taste of fear,
and the beast sees its own face
reflected in every living thing—

When every wandering soul carries within
the staff of Moses—
and strikes not stone,
but the hidden rock of the heart,
so that from the earth of the inner self
twelve springs burst forth—
and every thirst at last finds
the water that had always been waiting—

Then,
perhaps, the seal
of that unseen vessel of mystery
will break of itself.
That translucent spirit,
hidden in every current,
will speak without a tongue.
These verses will no longer be mine—
I will cast them like water
in search of a heart that listens,
where every name
returns to the nameless spring.

Then my soul,
remembering:
'And We made from water
every living thing, '
will forget its thirst,
and utter the oldest prayer:

Long Live Water.

—MyKoul