The Gold That Was My Heart Poem by Mystic Qalandar

The gold that was my heart
grew quiet, veined with rust,
when I built from clay and water
my brief house of dust.

Do not mourn for me.

Nothing has been lost—
the all is gathered here
in this cradle of the sounding clay,
where everything once torn
now finds its ancient rest.

All is mingled.
All is tuned
to the music before music,
to the light before the sun—
that first radiance
from which all shapes were spun.

So tuned
that distance falls away,
difference dims and dies,
and the thousand colours blur
into one single rise:

one pulse,
one flame,
one vast and nameless sea
that carries my small vessel
where it has always longed to be.

And You, Lord—
what I called my falling
was only a slow descending
into the temple of the formed;
what I called my stain
was the veil through which
Your uncontainable light
learned to be born.

Now the soul's deep core
stands bare:

not a thing I held,
not a thing I found,
but the quiet breath
that never left Your sound—

the most hidden
of all hidden things,
lodged in the very heart
that wept itself astray;

the eternal coin
buried in the mud,
not waiting to be seized,
but to be remembered,
like a word
on the tongue of the world.

And so I turn—
not toward a shore,
but toward the One
from whom no pilgrim
has ever truly parted more.

The copper dreams of gold.
The clay remembers the ray.

And in that hush
where every name dissolves,
I remember
what the pulse
has always known:

I was never outside
Your radiance.

I was the going,
the return,
the sea,
the still unbroken
morning.

—MyKoul