Precosmic Hour Poem by Mystic Qalandar

We walk upon this earth,
yet our minds drift toward a place
before earth, before dust, before form—
the unnamed origin.

It is not remembered,
only intuited.
Not seen,
only longed for.

We imagine tomorrow
as the day of return,
yet it is a mirage—
the future, a shadow of the present.

Each moment repeats itself:
the day we dreamed yesterday,
the day conceived in the Divine mind
before time was carved
into beginnings and endings.

Past folds into present;
present dissolves into future.
There are no three—
only one continuum,
the Now,
immense and indivisible,
the precosmic hour
without measure, without boundary.

What we call "happening"
is but the unfolding
of eternal ideas
within the Infinite.

Those who abide here,
who breathe the undivided air of Now,
walk in the eternal rhythm—
the real, the true.

But those who fracture time
into past, present, and future
fracture the Divine as well—
the seamless Whole.
And thus arise the shadows,
the mirage of multiplicity.

—August,31,2025