When Truth Unfolds Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Beneath unmeasured skies, the truth descends—
not as a storm, nor a faint whisper,
but as a veil torn by the Breath of the Merciful.

Shattered souls lift their cries
for what was lost before creation's first dawn,
for what lay hidden within the clay's sacred mold,
for the covenant sealed with: "Am I not your Lord? "

Through corridors of shadow and illusion we wander,
hearts flickering like tapers
in the night of self.

Faith is consumed in the furnace of pride—
yet the Unseen calls:
a mercy woven into silence,
a voice from the Pen's eternal script that commands: Be.

The light draws the night into its orbit,
draping darkness in a mantle of sheer brilliance.

Illusions scatter like startled, brittle birds;
their shadows dissolve
in the breath of Infinity.

Adam and Eve turn away
from the Iblis's borrowed, silver tongue;
the garden awakens within,
guarded by light that purifies the heart's core.

The eyes of the awakened unfold,
petals blooming
at the pure dawn of witnessing.

Wisdom ascends through ash and stark desire—
a solitary flame rising
from the ocean of Divine Names.

Each truth becomes a lamp,
every syllable etched upon the Preserved Tablet;
no silent sigh erased,
every breath counted
as testament.

The ancient vow returns
as a rising, ringing tide,
its final whisper circling
the soul's deep horizon:

"Lift the flame, bear the spark—
guard the light no abyss can swallow whole."

And in that command, profound silence shatters;
the soul remembers
what the body had forgotten.

Now truth blazes in marrow and blood—
an inferno no death can quench.

In this fractured mirror of creation,
we rise not as dust,
but as guardians of the Word.

We burn as mirrors of the Eternal,
we shine as witnesses
to the primordial oath,
vessels of a relentless flame,
carried from pre-eternity
into the endless horizon of our return.

—September 28,2025