The Trust Of Breath Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I am the one who bears this body;
You are the One who breathes through it.
I do not know the secret of my being;
You alone know
the mystery nested in each inhalation—
the unseen script written upon the ribs,
the silent command that moves the diaphragm
like a reed pen in the hand of the Compassionate.

Therefore, even this body
is not truly mine—
it is Yours:
an instrument of wonder,
an ordering of life,
a living vessel
through which
the miracles of Your life-breath
are revealed—
not as ownership, but as loan;
not as possession, but as presence.

I call it my body,
yet I did not fashion its clay,
nor tune the pulse that keeps its time.
I call it my breath,
yet I cannot command
its coming or its going—
each rise a gift,
each fall a return.

This body is but a trust—
amanat—
and every breath
a sign—
ayat—
a silent disclosure
of the hidden Presence
through which life lives,
and by which
all that lives
is sustained.

What I name 'I'
is only the echo
of Your exhalation
in the chamber of form.
What I call 'mine'
is the shadow
cast by Your light
upon the wall of name.

Breathe through me,
until the breather and the breathed
are one rhythm;
until the vessel forgets itself
in the wine it holds;
until the sign
becomes the Signified.

—MyKoul