The Silence Of Love Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I stopped in that breathless moment—
my questions like unopened letters
striking the walls of those inner chambers
where memories forget even their own names.

That love which is the very essence of being—
why does it offer itself
without a single word?
Why does the Infinite
refuse all argument, repetition, or plea—
and simply abide:
an vast expanse,
silent,
so patient,
like the empty interval
between two heartbeats?

This love bestows upon me—
not to fly toward some distant sky,
but toward that forgotten homeland
wrapped within my own self—
that country I abandoned
before I even learned to speak.
It undoes those hidden chains
I once mistook for freedom:
cheap excuses,
borrowed fears,
and those restless thoughts
that dressed themselves in the garb of truth.
It chooses:
knowledge over opinion,
wisdom over apparent certainty,
and presence over possession—
that true intelligence
which neither conquers nor competes,
but silently awakens
the light
that was already waiting,
like a lamp hidden
beneath the veils of my own self.

Then I considered—
how unbearable
must this selfless love have felt
to that existence I called 'I.'
For that false self
cannot live where there is no need for defense.
It thrives on comparison,
on applause,
on the spectacle of mattering
within a dream
that vanishes
at the first ray of waking.
Divine Love demands none of these.
It only asks
that I cease this pretense of separation
from the One
who was never absent,
even in my heedlessness.

Yet I remained aggrieved with it—
not because it had abandoned me,
but because it refused
to abandon my reality.
It stayed silent
while every cherished illusion of mine
crumbled like temples built on sand.
I mistook its stillness for distance.
I mistook its patience for indifference.
I mistook its veil
for its absence—
though all the while,
it was nearer than the very thought
that sought it.

For silence is not the absence of words;
it is the language
that predates speech—
the unscribed Book of the Divine
inscribed on the page of consciousness
before the mind learned to divide
and name this 'I' and that 'other.'
Every unanswered prayer:
another door.
Every delay:
an unseen mercy.
Every loss:
another rising veil.
Every darkness:
a training of eyes
to recognize that light
which casts no shadow—
the Sufis' luminous darkness,
where sight itself
becomes another kind
of blindness.

Then it was revealed to me:
Love was never silent.
Only my noise—
that endless clamor of a mind
entangled in desires—
rose so loud
it drowned out its whisper.
Those questions were never obstacles.
They were seeds,
waiting for silence
to ripen into wisdom.
That silence was never punishment.
It was an arrival—
that summit
where timelessness
teaches time
to remember its own source.

There,
the lover dissolved.
Only the Beloved remained.
There,
the seeker perished.
And seeking itself
became God
remembering Its own reflection
through the mirror of a prepared heart—
that heart which breaks,
and in its very breaking
grows vast enough
to contain the All.

Now I never ask
why love speaks without words.
For every breath is its answer.
Every heartbeat recites a Name
no tongue can utter—
that Supreme Name
beyond articulation,
hidden within the waves
of my own pulse.
Every moment of surrender reveals
that what I once sought
was always the One
who silently gave me being—
and through that same silence,
calls me back to the home
I never left,
to that self
I never lost,
and to that love
which never ceased
its soft,
eternal,
and wordless
song.

— MyKoul