The Secret Of The Self Poem by Mystic Qalandar

The warden raves, the healer faints—all souls are frantic here;
To whom can I confide my soul? All hearts are smitten here.

The Beloved's light floods every crack, yet we nurse private grief—
the witnesses turn into stone, by radiance smitten here.

The Essence bares its naked face—what can the "clever" know?
They worship two and miss the One, in shadows written here.

That primal truth, a hidden gem within the breast of Being,
is found by those who dive within, where secrets glisten here.

I traveled paths both far and wide to find the One I lacked,
then saw the truth: I am the Goal for which I've striven here.

A hall of mirrors, vast and strange—His face in every glass;
each feature gleams, each echo rings—His spirit lit all here.

Some drunk on wine of Oneness, some by "I-ness" bound in chains;
though paths may drift, by one Great Thirst all souls are driven here.

Saint, ascetic, or the rogue—all wander, dazed and lost,
yet on this road, within the maze, a home is given here.

A riot stirs within the breast, beyond the reach of mind;
only the ones who drown in hush can truly listen here.

What can be said of Love's own veil—both blinding and opaque?
The one who seems a world away is in the heartbeat hidden here.

A miracle, MyKoul! When self met Self and knew its name,
the One I sought from door to door was always dwelling here.

—MyKoul