The Soul's Hidden Bloom Poem by Mystic Qalandar

A third realm whispers—
past tumult's roar,
past wounds that fester,
deeper than thought's wild shore,
deeper than the heart's burning core.

No stride leads us there;
eternal, we dwell in its lair.
No soil to tread,
no heavens to wed,
no ledge to clutch in dread—
only boundless hush, alive with breath.
No welcome warms, no farewell grieves;
only its cradle where the soul believes.

With heart sincere, slip soulward in;
with heart sincere, let nafs meet its end.
No revelry rings,
no dances arise.
Here, the All-Hearing, All-Seeing abides—
the veilless vault beyond disguise.

Before this dawn, void seemed supreme,
ink-black woven through every seam,
as though the cosmos dimmed its gleam.
I plunged within to depths untold,
grasping nothing—shadows cold.
Hands outstretched, palms open wide,
into emptiness my echoes cried.
The truth unveiled: no void—but I.

What return, when never did we roam?
That void we touched was self's own home—
a mirror's gaze: no light, just shade,
and we, the shadow's masquerade.

Clamor and scars—no trace remain;
only sight once bound, now freed from chain,
no longer lost in inward wind.
No feast, no whirl—
this silence whole
needs no witness,
no arriving soul.

For none arrived,
none formed, none fell—
only the hush that knows itself.
All-Hearing, All-Seeing—unseamed—
now hearing flows as hearing's stream,
now seeing shines as seeing's beam.

Not that this realm is void of form—
but we never dared the question born:
'When came you here? '
Lest echo answer, sharp and clear:
'When did you go? '

Now known: this third holds no domain,
but the undoing of place and name—
we, its dawn and dusk, the same.

Words dissolve in silence's core.
That breath once hushed is hushed no more—
our breath, forevermore.

— MyKoul