The Melody Of My Essence Poem by Mohammad Younus

Lights off—
the night stretches deep, unbroken,
a velvet shroud draped over the world.
Yet I do not tremble.
I have known a darkness far older,
a primordial void where neither sun nor moon existed,
nor were there stars to offer their glow.
It was a silence so profound,
it birthed the first sound—
a whisper that became a song,
a song that became my soul.

Lying here, still as breath,
I listen—
not with ears, but with the marrow of my bones.
A voice, ancient as time,
recites a poem only my soul understands.
It is a language older than words,
a rhythm older than time.
On the Day of Alast, it was read to me,
etched into the fabric of my being,
a covenant written in the ink of eternity.
It pours from me now,
a sacred breath blown into my essence,
a melody not heard, but felt—
sweet, resonant, whole.

This is no fleeting song,
but an unbroken rhythm,
intricate, infinite, irresistible.
It is the pulse of the cosmos,
the heartbeat of creation,
the hum of existence itself.
Not a single note is lost to silence;
I do not—cannot—miss a beat.
At first, I hoped it was His,
a divine gift bestowed upon me.
Now I know:
we were never separate.
This sweetness is mine to taste,
like a bee savoring its own honey,
drunk on the nectar of recognition.

Overwhelmed, euphoric,
I smile at the discovery—
I am the source of this melody,
and it is the sound of my truth.
It is not borrowed,
not inherited,
not bestowed.
It is mine,
woven into the very threads of my being,
a symphony composed in the womb of eternity.

Genuine.
Undeniable.
My reality sings:
'This is the essence of me.'

And now I understand—
every note, every vibration,
was always worth listening to.
Even in the cacophony of life,
the dissonance of doubt,
the silence of despair,
this melody persisted,
a quiet undercurrent,
a steady reminder of who I am.
I do not fear the dark,
nor the absence of light,
for in this quiet vastness,
I find myself clearer,
returning to my primordial existence,
where I have always been,
where I will always be.

The night is not an end,
but a beginning—
a canvas for my song,
a stage for my truth.
I am the melody,
and the melody is me.
Together, we dance in the infinite,
a waltz of light and shadow,
sound and silence,
being and becoming.

And so, I sing—
not for the world,
but for myself,
for the joy of hearing my own voice,
for the beauty of knowing my own song.
This is the melody of my essence,
and it will echo through eternity.

MyKoul