The Shirt That Truth Has Worn Poem by Mystic Qalandar

The shirt that Truth has draped upon its being,
when it descended to earth in the form of a soul—
no thread was woven into it,
no needle ever touched its hem,
no sewing machine ever turned upon it.

Yet beneath it, ages kept stirring
without beginning and without end.

This shirt never tears,
never grows threadbare,
never does time steal its color.
It needs no mending,
no replacing.

I am grateful
that I have come to know—within this shirt—
the command of the Lord is clothed:
that which, if it wills, can take off
one world and put on another,
can transform ages
yet never alter its own reality.

But it is not a shirt
woven of warp and weft
of which I speak.
This is an altogether different garment—
one that is worn upon the heart.

Strange, that the heart
should love this very shirt
that no tailor ever stitched,
upon which no patch was ever set.

I, too,
have never taken this shirt off.
Even today I remain
the keeper of that same tradition,
a traveler of that same belonging.

This shirt, for me,
is the shirt of Joseph—
that fragrance
which descended into Jacob's eyes
and became light once more.

It does not clothe my body—
it brings peace to my soul.
This is not merely a garment:
it is a relic of love,
a silent sign,
a sacred trust,
a memory
that even time cannot forget.

Upon my life,
even today this same shirt
casts its shade—
and I
live within its embrace of love
The Truth wears the shirt of Rūh.

— MyKoul