Purification Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I cleanse my heart
not because it is dirty,
but because something within
is trembling again—

a quiet alarm with no siren,
only a tremor beneath the ribs
whispering:

Restore your true self,
Consciousness, now.

The purification of my heart
becomes a prelude to prayer—
a way of smoothing
the places my mind has disturbed.

I wipe the room of my heart clean,
and the heart exhales,
breathing out the obnoxious dust
that has settled within.

Slowly,
the natural order returns.

What was scattered
begins to gather—
fragment by fragment,
breath by breath—

until the heart
stitches itself together
and becomes whole again.

Dust of the illusion of duality
has gathered in the dark, deep corners,
and with it—
fear,
false hope,
and the restless residue
of a crooked mind.

So when I sweep,
I am sweeping away more than crumbs.

I am sweeping away
the static that rises
in the arched chambers of my heart
when the mind bends crooked
and my nerves spark
like an eternal fire.

I sweep
until the dust is gone,

until fear
finds nowhere to hide,

until false hope
falls silent,

until the crooked mind
straightens into
the stillness of One.

And then I see—

there was never more
than dust
between myself
and the Truth.

I do not clean
to tidy a room.

I clean
to steady a universe.

And when the floor is clear
and the air grows still,
I stand in the quiet
of a freshly reclaimed space
and think:

Perhaps this is
what purification feels like—

not merely peace,
not merely healing,

but that rare moment
when the inside
and the outside
finally become one;

when nothing within
is fighting
what is without;

when the boundary
between the room
and the one who cleans it
grows transparent;

and the space I have cleared
is no longer merely around me—

it is within me.

—MyKoul