The Crescent Of Mastery Poem by Mohammad Younus

The crescent of mastery,
Not in the weight of titles,
nor in the echoes of applause,
does mastery reside.
It is not in the clenched fist of control,
nor the crown worn heavy with pride.

It is in the crescent—
a heart curved open,
bent toward the whisper of the unseen,
listening for the hush between words,
where wisdom hums like a quiet river.

They call them Masters,
but they are seekers,
drinking from an endless stream,
palms cupped, never clenched,
forever thirsty for the next drop of truth.

They walk as mirrors,
polishing their souls in silent devotion,
so that the light of the Divine
may pass through without distortion.
Not rulers, but servants—
servants of love,
servants of the unfolding sacred.

No final lesson,
no summit reached,
only the endless dance of unknowing,
the soft hum of surrender,
the eternal invitation
to bow, to listen, to become.

And so, let us walk
not in conquest,
but in curiosity,
not in dominion,
but in awe—
our hearts, crescents ever widening,
our souls, vessels of a light
too vast to contain.

Mastery is not a destination,
but a path paved with questions,
each step a reckoning,
each breath a prayer.
It is not the roar of certainty,
but the murmur of wonder,
the courage to stand at the edge
of all that is unknown
and say, 'Teach me.'

It is the gardener who tends to the soil,
not demanding the bloom,
but honoring the seed.
It is the artist who paints with shadows,
finding beauty in the spaces
where light has yet to reach.
It is the musician who plays the silence,
knowing the notes are born
from the stillness between.
Mastery is humility—
the willingness to kneel
before the vastness of existence,
to admit, 'I do not know, '
and yet to rise,
to reach,
to try again.

It is the alchemy of failure,
turning stumbling blocks into stepping stones,
seeing every misstep as a message,
every fall as an offering
to the altar of growth.

It is the recognition
that we are both the sculptor and the clay,
shaping and being shaped,
learning and unlearning,
forever in motion,
forever becoming.

And so, let us walk
not as those who have arrived,
but as those who are arriving,
moment by moment,
breath by breath.
Let us carry our crescents like lanterns,
guiding us through the dark,
not to conquer it,
but to illuminate it,
to see it as part of the whole.

For mastery is not a crown to wear,
but a light to share—
a light that grows brighter
the more it is given away.
And in the giving,
we find ourselves
forever students,
forever servants,
forever in awe
of the infinite mystery
that is life.

Mykoul