The Silent Breath Of The Infinite Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Beyond the window,
rain performs its ancient worship—
falling like threads of silver,
laying a balm
upon the wounded body of the world.
Rooftops tremble beneath its weight,
alleyways dissolve into mirrors,
and the restless earth
surrenders its thousand voices
to the storm.

But within—
deeper than thought,
farther than memory—
there exists a solitude
no season can touch.
There, silence burns
like a hidden star.
There, the soul sits motionless
upon the dark waters of eternity.

Though the sky
empty itself completely,
though clouds
scatter for a thousand years,
the inner sky remains
forever clear, vast,
and undisturbed.

For rain belongs
to the world of forms,
to passing names,
to the dream
of becoming and undoing.
But this tranquil silence within
belongs to that reality
which neither appears
nor ever perishes.

And when one listens
with the deepest hearing,
they begin to perceive—
behind the rain,
behind the silence,
behind their very own self—
that faint, wordless breath
of the Infinite.

Then,
even that final boundary
begins to dissolve.
No inner sky remains
apart from the storm,
no hidden stillness
hides behind the world.

The rain itself, it turns out,
is woven from the very threads
of that silence.
The thunder,
the trembling rooftops,
the wandering mind,
and that nameless witness—
all are born
from a single, boundless breath.

The inner and the outer
lose their opposing shores.
The Infinite was never imprisoned
in the secret chamber of the heart;
it flows through river and wilderness alike,
through grief and through song,
through the pulse of stars
and through the dust
beneath bare feet.

Nothing lies outside it.
Nothing is separate from it.

And the awakening that is granted
does not abandon the world—
it sees the world
transfigured
in an indivisible light.

Now even the rain falls
without distance.
And everywhere—
in the wind,
in sorrow,
in silence,
in stone,
in the bossom of inanimate,
in the lovely countenance of animate,
in the breath of strangers,
in the turning of galaxies—
one hears
that boundless, unchained,
and eternal breath:

the silent breath of the Infinite.

—MyKoul