Whispers Of The Subtle Being Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Whispers ripple—
unseen but deeply felt—
an essence seeping
from zenith into dust,
a silent envoy
cloaked in absence.

I asked:
What voice speaks
without a tongue?
Whose mercy moves
in rain's unseen hand,
whose compassion rests
within a shadow—
a presence veiled,
breathing through
the fissures of the air?

We know the wave
but not the gem—
the storm, not the hidden treasure.
Beneath the restless heave
a secret trove endures:
pearls surrendering to darkness,
corals whispering
in the hush of the abyss.

Long years poised
at the boundary—
born of longing,
a murmur swelling into tempest,
a sea of shadows rising,
the mirror shattered.

Before the threshold
no tongue can name,
I search the formless self—
to hew the raw soul,
that sage of silent depths,
or be clay—quiet,
pressed beneath
the earth's dark speech.

Circles turn—
love's invisible revolution,
solar breath awakening
the cosmic tides
beneath the vaulted arc of being.

Stand—
a cedar's rooted vow,
driving living anchors
into the fathomless.

Walk—
a wave's patient unfolding,
a breath drawn gently
from eternity's pool.Fall—
snow fading into
untouched earth,
a secret slipping past
the reach of sight.

Do not let your essence scatter
into the wind's unrest,
nor spill itself
in hurried streams.

Let each step murmur
with the primordial pulse,
echoing the ancient,
uncarved stone within.

Remember—
light gives birth to shadow,
and shadows chant
their hidden liturgies,
woven from the quiet
of light itself.

Stand—
as sky stands: unpillared,
vast in boundless void.

Sing—
as spring breathes
across scentless winds—
a song unbound
by ear or voice.

Fall—
light descending softly
upon the tender enigma
of earth—
where it is received,
where it lingers,
unknowable.

There—
where need dissolves,
and needlessness flowers.

—December,11,2025