The Last Whisper Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I began with words,
but sought the silence
behind them.
I believed the journey
was toward meaning,
toward answers gathered like names.
But the deeper I walked,
the lighter I became.
Pages emptied.
Certainties loosened.

What I lost
was never taken.
It slipped—
like dew from a petal
at the exact moment it had to.

I learned that innocence
is not behind us.
It appears
when we stop carrying ourselves.

There is no final account,
no weight left to measure.
Nothing to defend.
Nothing to repay.
Only this breath.
Only this quiet knowing:
what I sought
was always looking through me.

The garden was never destroyed.
The exile, a lesson in closeness.
The fire did not punish—
it cleared the way.

So I end where I began:
with an open page,
an unwritten name,
and a dawn
that asks for nothing.

—January,6,2026