Love, Love—what Does It Unveil? Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Love, tell me: what veil does it not rend?
What coolness stills the fever of the heart
if not Love—the One Real,
disclosing itself through the mirror of presence?

I have drunk the wine of uncreated essence—
all certainties fall like ash from these fingers.
No station abides beneath this fleeing foot.

How came this annihilation—so gracious, so entire?
Like a seed split open, my cry betrays:
only in the wound does the seed find its song.

I am captivated not by form or glance
but by eyes veiled within creation itself—
beholding Its own beauty through differing forms,
holding created and uncreated in a single gaze.

The Beloved said, 'I was a hidden treasure'—
why this burning, if not to be found?

Whenever I turn toward solitude,
She appears—effulgent, beyond motion—
drawn by the longing of the Real Itself.

Come—enter the tavern of ruin, where the wine
is not drunk, but becomes the drinker.

Yet within me abides a colder remembrance:
a Light before every shadow,
a stillness no image can counterfeit.
So I rise—
beyond the ocular mirror of the beloved,
beyond the dream that names itself Love—
toward al-Ḥaqq,
the Source of every arrow.

Yet a whisper returns:
You are the arrow, the bow, the archer,
and the wound you seek.

Love—not echo, but Essence itself;
not veil, but the Face unveiled.

Let me return to the One
who loved me before love knew its own name—
before the cosmos was breathed
as a single sigh between Be and becoming.

Not two, not one—
even 'one' is a veil.
Silence.
The seed returns—unfolding beyond count,
though truly One.

— MyKoul