Paradox Of Free Will And Divine Will Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Behold the shadow-self—
that veiled wanderer of dream-realms,
unmasked by intent's silent watch.
There, deeds arise effortless,
unbidden—
like stars blooming from the hush of void.

At dawn's first breath, fragments return
or dissolve like mist on nameless shores,
as though never engraved in your marrow.
You retrace primordial paths,
echoes from nights before birth remembered you,
or summon the unborn hour—
longing's blueprint etched in ether,
rehearsed in the soul's hidden forge
before time consented to weave.

Yet the "I" is nowhere found,
suspended on invisible silks.
You say: My mind chose this.
But why this spark from thought's anvil,
and not the countless others
that flicker—then vanish?
Why is one impulse crowned sovereign
while legions remain unheard in shadow?

If freedom is yours,
why does choice arrive as guest,
summoned by a hand unseen?
If you wield the scepter,
who fashioned the crown?
What Essence kindles the neural fire—
breath of ilham, lightning of urge,
the Alchemist
turning leaded thought to gold?

Have you pierced the mirror of your depths?
Do you author the will—
or does the Unseen Hand
thread your assent
through the loom of decree?

Free will does not rise as iron law,
but as a lover's yielding vow.
Divine Will does not rule as tyrant,
but woos—
like a flute breathing through reed.

In that hushed convergence,
where the self's whisper
answers the Eternal Call,
surrender becomes the truest choice.

And the deed unfolds—
neither wholly yours,
nor severed
from the One
who dreamed
the dreamer.

—January,8,2026