Seeking My Own World— inside My Heart's Chambers Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Perhaps someday
I shall inherit a world of my own—
not beyond the spheres,
not veiled within some celestial archipelago,
but folded secretly
inside the chambers of the heart's uncarved block.

A hidden dominion of primordial stillness,
curtained from every intrusion,
where no foreign will may enter
to occupy, to govern, to accuse.
A place where the soul is no longer cross-examined
for the ancient, seamless crime of existing freely.

A sanctum whose walls are woven not of stone
but of sakīnah—that descending serenity
the prophets knew when the Divine drew near—
whose air is dhikr, the soft respiration of remembrance,
whose silence does not wound,
for it has never learned the grammar of accusation.

There,
my truest self would greet me
as a mother opens the door at dusk—
saying nothing,
for nothing would ever again require defending.

No screaming.
No tribunals of the false self,
no prosecutors bred in the marrow of conditioning.
No voices fastening chains
around the wrists of being itself.

Only rest—
deep as the unlit waters beneath the Throne
before creation stirred in the Mind of Mercy,
before the worlds were scattered
like seeds from an unseen hand.

There I would bake thoughts into bread,
season solitude with light,
and eat from the unseen table of mann and salwā—
that heavenly provision
the wandering people tasted
in the desert of their becoming.

No deceiver would question me there.
No whispering voice would dare suggest
that heaven's nourishment
had somehow grown stale on its journey into me.

And perhaps—
perhaps—
the Divine Mother of Mercy,
whose womb is the first veil of existence,
would leave warm nourishment waiting
upon the inward hearth
before I even knew I hungered.

— MyKoul