The Rain Speaks Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I love the rain—
it seeps through the membrane of self
like God's quiet laughter,
a pulse that remembers the before,
the after.

Each drop: a letter of mercy.
Each shower: a rosary
unfurling from a sky
that has not forgotten our names.

Here, gifts ask no exchange.
No ledger tallies this bounty
that orders our breath
like an exhale that forgets
it ever inhaled.

It asks one thing only:
remember—
before the heart forgets
it was never separate,
open the faithful fist,
and let gratitude wake
to its own endless spring.

Treasure is not seized
but received:
wisdom ripening into recognition
that you were always known;
love unfolding into compassion
that has no opposite;
hope becoming the small courage
to walk, in the soul's dark room,
the path already written
before you took your first step.

Then, in that unknowing,
clouds bow and dissolve.
Light enters
where darkness had made its home—
a white, translucent silence
drifts across the wounded sky
and gathers the tears
the world left unnamed.

Grace performs
what effort cannot.
It does not strive—
it simply is.

Then, without ceremony,
on the horizon of eternity,
a rainbow bends:
a covenant of light,
a bridge between the seen and the unseen,
saying without sound
that this love—
older than time,
nearer than your next breath—
will not fail.
Will not leave.

Rain, light, rainbow, grateful heart:
faces of one Being.
One unbounded gift.
One gift that is you.

—MyKoul