The Light Behind Forms Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I may never behold the transcendent Light itself,
yet I glimpse its radiance
in every form that rises and falls.
I sense the imperceptible
when something beautiful or terrible unfolds—
events that slip through the net of reason,
that no logic can wholly contain.

A hidden principle moves through all things:
keeping worlds in motion,
holding balance amid change,
guiding the slow turning of stars,
the flowering of life,
the widening breath of the cosmos.
It performs no spectacle, seeks no witness,
requires no repair, no replacement, no reward,
no endless invention of newer designs.
Complete in itself,
it simply is.

That Light dwells in all beings
as wisdom waiting to wake,
as knowledge older than memory.
Through it, each soul becomes
both witness and participant
in the vast mystery of what is.

Some wear the garments of sages,
others the clothes of laborers;
some speak from thrones,
others from kitchens and fields.
The Light makes no distinction.

Many pass unnoticed—
shadows crossing at dusk,
their greatness folded
into ordinary gestures.
Honourable souls,
whether by merit or inheritance,
carry a quiet luminosity.
Their actions are not entirely their own.
They move as mirrors move:
reflecting only what the Light reveals,
doing only what its manifestation requires.

And when they vanish from sight,
the Light remains—
unborn, undiminished,
shining through countless forms,
the invisible heart of all that appears.

— MyKoul