The Light Of Lights Poem by Mystic Qalandar

His likeness is Light—
the Light of Lights,
from whom all radiance flows
in cascading revelation.

Not the flicker of forms,
nor the pallor of borrowed truths,
but the Primal Dawn—
the Sun rising
from the Horizon of Becoming.

He is the Hidden Sun,
whose beams pierce
the latticework of creation.
Every spark within us
is a connected ray
to its origin—sign of unity.

This Light is not reserved
for the chosen few—
no veil can bind
the Uncontained Flame.
It pours through every shroud,
into every heart,
even those lost
in the eclipse of illusion.

To walk toward Him
is not to cross distance,
but to shed
the husks of delusion.

Even in your deepest dark,
when the specters of division
cloud your sight,
Light is there—
though you perceive
only the shadows
it casts behind.

At times,
Light draws the soul too close—
like a moth flung
into the unseen fire.
This is the dissolution of nearness,
where vision drowns
in the flood of His splendor.

His is the golden thread
that leads through
matter's maze.
The Path ignites
only beneath the step—
each footfall
a polished mirror
returning His gaze.

When longing grips your throat,
ask—not with words,
but with the raw hunger
of your soul.
The Light hears even
the mute cry
of those
who've lost their voice.

He asks for nothing
but the turning
of the heart
toward the Qibla—
that hidden dominion
where Light alone rules,
and darkness is only
desire unmet.

To trust the Whole
is to see beyond
the prison of fragments.
He is the Ever-Shining—
whether the soul soars in certainty
or kneels in ashes of longing.

So gather your scattered sparks.
Summon the will
to walk the unseen path,
to tear the veils
of tinted flame,
and find the Origin.

Walk, O pilgrim of the inner sky—
not with your feet,
but up the stair of radiance
within your soul.

And remember:
what you seek
has always been—
the Seeker.

MyKoul