Paradox Of Veiled, Yet Revealed Poem by Mystic Qalandar

He is there—
in the trembling depths of my eyes,
beyond the reach of light itself,
where sight turns inward
and seeing dies into seeing.

In the still pond of remembrance
a face drifts—
dissolving,
then returning through another dream.
I reach to touch,
and the ripples steal
the image of my own being.

When he turns cold,
the warmth within me falters.
In that hush
I watch myself—
a silent witness behind a thousand masks,
listening to a voice
no longer my own.

I walk among faces
whose smiles guard
forgotten vows.
After each embrace,
a dust of parting settles—
as though the balance of being
has shifted into air.

If ever, in the austerity of longing,
you lean close to the walls,
you may hear between the bricks
an unseen door breathing softly—
where time stands still
and the void weaves itself
into a net of flame.

I dwell
on the seventh tier of helplessness,
where fire is prayer
and sorrow entwines
with the first light of dawn.
Here, time rises from its ashes,
and every name
returns as an echo.

He is there—
in vision and in the unseen,
veiled within the pulse of all things,
and in each annihilation,
birthing his own becoming.

—November,7,2025