Reweaving The Soul's Own Tapestry Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I cannot turn back
from this road I walk—
this re-weaving of
the soul's own tapestry,
not for the hollow comfort
of lifeless rites,
of prayers and offerings,
of Yoga and ascetic practices
grown cold and mute.

I will stay here
until that flawless certainty
settles upon me—
the certainty
born in the womb of direct knowing,
the certainty
kindled by visions
and by what lives beyond all seeing,
the certainty
that at last dissolves
into the ocean of the Real
and becomes the Real itself.

Until that hour,
let the last heavy, darkened garments
of my abandoned former life
be torn from me—
with a mercy that is fierce,
with a majesty that remakes—
let them be ripped away
and cast into the abyssal depths
of perpetual silence,
where the shades of forgotten selves
crumble into dust and fade.

Then let me be wrapped
in the first, original garment of being—
a luminous vestment
spun from threads of light,
a robe untouched
by any blemish of yesterday.

And may every thought that stirs within me
rise like the first breath
of a newly awakened soul—
wholly free of memory's stain,
so clear and unmixed
that it reflects only
the Real—
the Real that dwells
beyond all worlds,
yet pulses through every atom
of all that is.

—MyKoul