One Spirit Beneath The Stars Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Wide, wondering eyes behold
a world of forms—
a traveler in a thousand robes
wandering beneath the stars.

The stars borrow their fire
from an unseen hearth.
Day blossoms from a hidden brightness;
night gathers it back into her dark
and dreaming womb.

The gentle wind, the quiet mind,
the bloom unfolding before dawn,
the sun lifting gold from the hills—
all arrive from one source, unnamed
as fragrance rises from a hidden rose,
as breath from a sleeping Eve in the chest.

Something moves beneath appearances:
a tide beneath the waves,
a root beneath the meadow,
a silence threading birdsong through the rain.

Lovers meet and lean toward one reality,
drawn by love breathed into them by one reality.
Dew gathers on their cheeks like a blessing;
for a moment, a mirror remembers its image.

Grass bends. Branches sway.
Rivers carry fragments of cloud.
The cricket's trill, the owl's low call,
the turning of leaves in evening air—
braids of black tresses opened by one reality.

Mountains stand with ancient listening.
Oceans bow and rise.
The moon returns its silver longing;
the sun spends itself in gold.
Each star, each grain of sand—
a syllable of an unfinished name.

Forms appear and disappear like waves
lifting from water—briefly bright,
then folding back into depth.
Nothing is taken away.
The sea keeps no account of its waves.

Seer and seen, song and singer,
footprint and traveler, echo and canyon wall—
the thread passes through them all, unbroken.

Beneath the wheeling heavens,
through every shape and season,
the hidden Weaver considers Its tapestry.
And in the stillness between two breaths,
in the hush before a word is born,
a faint smile passes through the world—
as though something forgotten
had suddenly remembered itself.

— MyKoul