The Divine Poem by Mohammad Younus

The Divine—
unknowable, unnameable,
a secret too vast for tongues to unravel.
Not you, not me—no one
can declare His name, His form, His essence.
Do not ask, Who is He?
Do not chase answers
in the flesh of mortals
or the cold light of distant stars.
Be patient.
Wisdom comes in its own time,
like blossoms defying seasons—
bursting in unseen colors,
in scents that linger beyond fallen petals.
It is here, in the blooming,
in the myriad hues of existence,
that the Divine whispers.
He is in the blind man walking,
in the seer with eyes wide open,
in the earth beneath their feet,
in the sky stretching endless above.
Do what you must—
cut the vines that bind you,
the ones that twist and choke,
that promise salvation
but deliver only thorns.
Time runs relentless—
as we speak, as we breathe.
The present is all we hold;
the future is not ours to claim.
There is nothing new to find,
nothing old to discard,
for truth is whole,
eternal, unchanging.
It does not renew.
It does not age.
It simply is.
So refine yourself,
expand your heart,
and let go of the need to define
what cannot be defined.
In the mystery,
in the silence,
in the blooming of every season,
the Divine waits—
not to be known,
but to be felt.

— MyKoul