The Flute's Secret Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Flute,
carved by the knife of patience,
adorned with the silence of promises.

The moment arrives—
the player
brings it to his lips,
fills it with his breath:
a whole forest, an eternity.

From that breath alone,
a voice is born.
This melody is no exercise,
no learned tune—
it is the memory of a covenant,
sealed before the beginning.

A flute not emptied
has no voice.
Sound blossoms in the void—
that space where
names dissolve,
forms unravel,
and two become one.

No wound, no possession—
only the melody.
Heard solely by the heart.
This song is not the flute's—
it is a secret:
it is grace,
revealed in the instant
player and flute
merge into a single breath.

—January,16,2026