The Game Of Life Poem by Mystic Qalandar

In life's wide game, let love be crowned first prize—
a quiet sovereign outlasting all our days.
Beneath these pale, eternal, questioning skies,
we keep the simple freedom of our ways.

No wall confines the sorrows that descend,
no covenant holds back the dark that attends;
yet answering the summons love extends,
we find the inner room where all things mend.

Some hazard fortune; some pursue a name;
some seek the torch of truth, some seek the light.
All enter the same final silence, all the same—
yet grace alone can give the blind their sight.

There is an austere economy of soul:
we tally losses, mourn what must be spent,
and in that reckoning come to see the whole—
that love redeems the cost and gives it weight.

Let spirit be the victor when breath fails,
the silent ferryman who brings us home.
Beyond the prize, the journey shapes the soul:
to walk, by love, through exile toward the known.

Hold fast the discipline of patient love—
a simple faith, unsparing, without show—
and in that strictness sense what lives above:
the mercy woven through the world below.

—MyKoul