The Eyes Of Silence Poem by Mystic Qalandar

The Eyes of Silence

Perhaps we are half-blind
when we fail to see the One,
or have forgotten the inward eye
that turns within—
to know we are not separate
from That which holds the sun,
the Uncreated Light
beneath the skin.

Perhaps we are deafened by the clamor,
unable to hear the vast,
unsounded Hu
that stirs the sleeping worlds—
each note a sphere,
each pause a womb
where form and formlessness
meet and part.

For Silence is not absence;
it is the womb
where galaxies are breathed
and thoughts are born—
the unstruck string
from which manifestation blooms,
the naked choir
before the trumpet of Israfael.

There, the veils of ignorance
thin into light,
and hidden secrets gleam
like gold beneath the dust.
The eye opens
in the face of the heart,
and consciousness awakens
within its sounding mould of clay.

Not knowing—
but un-knowing—
becomes the sight:
the knower swallowed
by the known,
undone;
the seer and seen dissolving
in formless Light,
until all that seemed separate
returns to the One.

The heart, once fractured,
finds its primal tone;
the ear that hears the unheard
hears the Whole.
Each cell becomes a dwelling
of wonder,
each breath a throne,
and Silence speaks
the language of the Whole.

Then the apple, cleft,
reveals its hidden seed:
the seed, the tree,
the fruit, the ground—
one mystery appearing
as many.

No pilgrim remains
to seek,
no distant guide
to lead;
only Silence
knowing Silence,
whole and round.

—MyKoul