Thirst At The Threshold Of Oneness Poem by Mystic Qalandar

The truth shimmers not as desert mirage,
That spectral womb of illusion's fractured lie—
Phantom palms veiling seamless unity,
Wells of shadow where no waters lie.

No—it surges as the salt and living sea,
Horizon-boundless, one with thirsting sight;
The soul upon its rim is no true 'other, '
But Drop, dreaming separation's night—
A chalice where the Veiled stirs hidden light.

Here I dissolve, a frail wave in the Sea's great dream,
Where waves convulse as revelation's art:
Each crest the Real in foaming gleam,
Each trough the realm where seeming forms depart
From the surging Whole—yet all one beating heart.

These are no ripples on a distant breast,
But mirrors of the Real, unbroken, whole:
Creation's inner tremors, shadow-blessed,
Dance in the ocean's cave, where fleeting forms extol
The One's self-concealment in love's endless scroll.

My share? No beggar's glimpse through ego's haze—
For in Oneness, the Seer and Seen are one.

This Drop drinks Mercy from its own vase,
A foretaste of extinction—where all veils are undone,
Then abiding in the Thirst that is the Sun.

The shore? Illusion's chain, the iron 'two'—
My tide-mocked face but Being's mirrored art.

Let gales now strip this dream of me and you,
Plunge me, unmake me—O paradox of heart! —
Into the Abyss of Unity, where all thirsts start.

—December,24,2025