The Flute Of Being Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Silences sing
that song—that song—
which only a silent soul can hear,
an eternal melody of existence
played upon the flute.

The lips are still,
the tongue unmoving,
yet the melody flows, flows, flows.

It is bodiless, soulless—
without color, without sign,
without emotion, without sorrow—
and yet the sound of a bell
floats in the air,
giving an eternal voice
to the weight of the sacred word.

The ego, wrapped in clamor—a thief,
its companions like shadows—
at the sound of a single footstep
fall into silence,
into a sleep so eternal
they cannot be awakened even for a moment.

Funeral carriages pass;
their wheels slip in the rain.
The chief of the thieves,
in a faint and broken voice,
says: Farewell, farewell, farewell.

The thief now brings faith,
becomes a Muslim.
Peace enters life—
tranquility, light.
No one denies the sacred word;
every heart is filled
with its sweet melodies.

Now the truth speaks—
in whispers,
in the recitation
of Qur'anic verses
in perfect measure—
and it flows, flows, flows.

Their end is no longer the soil
of the cremation ground,
but the fragrance of Paradise,
where even the shadow of death
does not come.

Lamps of light upon light
illuminate them,
just as the Beloved wills—
silent, without commotion, silent.

To Allah we belong and to Him
we shall return.

They were neither bought nor sold;
they united with the Origin—
a union that never breaks,
not for a single moment.

All veils have been lifted,
only a transparent barrier remains—
unseen, unrecognized.

The true Witness, the witnessed,
and the one who bears witness—
now a single wave,
a single light,
contained within
a single Being.