The Only Thing I Know Poem by Mohammad Younus

The only thing I know,
Life is a mystery—
A thing I see,
Yet can't say if it's real.

A storm, a quake—
It shakes me,
But I can't claim it's real.
Does the wind whisper truth,
Or is it merely the clamour of doubt?

Though I sit, thinking,
Blinking through every word,
I can't say it's real—
Is thought itself an illusion,
A fleeting shadow on the mind's wall?

The sun blazes,
I'm tired of wondering,
Who lit it on fire?
Still, I can't say it's real.
Is it light, or just a fleeting glow,
A dream of warmth in the cold dark?

Quietly indisposed,
You want me to expose,
As if I am not real—
But am I not a soul in my own skin,
Living with every breath I take?

I'm sent from above,
A place full of beauty—
But I can't say it's real.
How can beauty be true,
When all that I see is merely,
A reflection in a mirror?

I see you, what you wear,
You conceal your face—
Don't break my heart
And tell me what I see is real.
Is your smile a mask or truth,
A shadow of what lies beneath?

Everything they say,
I don't know if it's real—
Truths spoken in riddles,
Lies dressed as wisdom,
Whispered on the winds of time.

Yet beneath it all, I pause—
In the silence, a pulse, a breath,
A whisper that does not fade.
Beyond the storm, beneath the mask,
Within each thought, each fleeting task—
A presence holds, an unbroken thread,
An essence that all doubts transcend.

One reality, ever true,
Unseen by eyes, yet known anew.
The only thing I know—
Amidst all the mystery,
There is One, eternal, real
That is manifest but still a mystery.

MyKoul