The Existence In The Body Poem by Mystic Qalandar

This Existence In The Body

This existence in the body—
of a frame of breathing clay—
not accident, but bridge
between silence and song.

Inside you,
an unmeasured river flows,
a current older than your name,
pouring itself into your hands,
asking to be poured away.

Do not mistake fragility for futility:
even dust wears the memory of stars;
even the trembling leaf holds
the whole sky in its veins.
You—earth-born—
carry a vast, invisible music,
ready to ignite in form and fire.

What waits in thought's hollow canyons
presses outward, craving release:
unborn ideas,
dreams coiled like seeds beneath your ribs,
aching for the tender violence of growth.

Your heart is no vessel to hoard—
but a wellspring erupting.
Its task is to overflow,
to let the Real blaze raw,
to lace the dense with light,
to turn the unseen
into bread, touch, speech.

Every breath you take
is the Real rehearsing itself—
timelessness practiced in clay,
eternity in miniature.

Rise in the light of your own marrow.
The void is no absence—
but fertile darkness:
a womb where new worlds begin.