Towards The Gnosis Of Your Primal Source Poem by Mystic Qalandar

How long will you linger,
your ear inclined
to the formless murmur
of ancient tales?
Behold—the horizon whispers:
from one breath,
you were breathed forth,
that breath shaping you,
yearning to reveal its face,
its quiet nature,
its radiant gleam—
not for chains,
but for a bulbul's flight:
unbound, serene, skyward.

Your essence sails,
drifting in silent grace,
on the warm cadence of exhalations,
toward the First Origin.
Yet you wander thought-choked lanes,
breathing stale air
in endless, quiet loops.

It asks no preparation—
only this:
Will you answer? Or not?

As in that first dawn,
roused from the sleep of nothing,
it called: Am I not your Lord?
And you, luminous with being,
whispered: Yea.

That first Yea still beats,
a soft pulse in the hidden chamber,
an eternal rhythm.

Awaken—kindle your innermost light;
dissolve into its luminous fold,
not by force,
but through the silent grace of knowing—
wordless recognition of the everlasting form,
your truest shape.

Return to that truth,
patient behind the veil,
keeping its tireless vigil.
As you go,
let the dust of delay fall away—
like a farewell, luminous and light.

The mystery remains:
Who knows his soul, knows his Lord.

—December,3,2025