The Flame Of Love Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I dance in circles—
a moth entranced,
around the golden flame
that never dies.

In its heat,
forgotten echoes rise.
A vow,
ancient as creation,
descends upon my heart.

I tremble—
afraid,
yet drawn.
For the touch of fire
is the touch of annihilation.

But the flame sways
in its own rapture.
It drinks of its joy,
and I see—
the flame too is dancing
with the moth.

The moth comes closer,
heart quivering,
knowing all paths lead to ash—
yet still it circles,
nearer and nearer
to ecstasy,
to exile,
to union.

And it speaks:

"Your brilliance consumes,
your play is wild and free.
Still I shall leap,
still I shall fall—
for Love is born only in fire."

O flame,
you have stripped me bare.
I have nothing left but you.
My life—
a gift laid at your feet.
Perhaps you have waited
for this last breath,
this surrender into smoke,
these ashes you smile upon,
as the Beloved smiles
at what Love has burned away.

The wise keep distance—
they guard their steps.
But the lover does not pause.
He leaps—
fearless,
selfless—
into the consuming sea.

And like Abraham,
he finds the fire
flowering into a garden.

The heart melts—
not with heat,
but with fragrance
rising from surrender,
a sweetness rare,
that carries the soul
into heaven's hush.

Now I remember—
this Light, this Flame.
It is the same
before which I gave my Yes,
on the Day of Alastu:
"Am I not your Lord? "
And I replied:
"Yes."

This Flame breaks chains,
it tears the veil,
it scatters sorrow.
In a single breath
it reveals
a glimpse of eternity.

When there is nothing to lose,
nothing to guard,
fear itself has no place.

To be nothing
is to live forever.
From ashes
a light is born again—
purer,
wholly of Love.