A vision of the Vision—beyond the veil it rose,
A spectacle of wonders the soul alone knows.

No eye could trace it, no tongue could declare,
What shimmered in silence, suspended in air.

It came like a whisper, yet struck like a flame,
Not seen by the many, not known by a name.

The stars held their breath, the heavens stood still,
As love broke the borders of shadow and will.

I sought with my seeing, but found with the heart,
Where absence and presence are not kept apart.

It was not a colour, a sound, or a face—
It was every nowhere, it filled every place.

And I, but a vessel of clay and of thirst,
Drank deep from the well where the boundless burst.

No scholar could bind it, no poet compose,
The mystery that only the soul ever knows.

A vision of the Vision—no ending, no start,
A glimpse of the Infinite etched in the heart.

O’moon, thou art no idle light in night’s domain,
But wisdom clothed in silence, soft and plain.
Thy cheerful face — a mirror to the skies,
Where heaven’s thought in silver quiet lies.

Thou speak’st no word, yet all the world attends,
For in thy gaze, the speech of truth descends.
A messenger without a voice or scroll,
Yet every beam thou castest stirs the soul.

Thou art the smile of God upon the deep,
A dream divine that wakes while mortals sleep.
No poet’s pen could hold the whole of thee —
Thou art the verse the heart was born to see.

O’ cheerful faced, whose beauty breathes like prayer,
Conversing thus with grace beyond compare.
Not made alone for eyes that seek delight,
But sent to guide the inward-seeking sight.

Thy stillness is not silence — it is thought,
A presence shaped by all that time has taught.
The night bows low before thy sacred glance,
As oceans rise beneath thy silent dance.

Thou teachest man to rise beyond the dust,
To seek within the self — to strive, to trust.
For in thy light is written — calm, yet sure —
That what is fleeting cannot be called pure.

What voice is thine that needs no sound to speak?
What strength is thine that dwells within the meek?
Thou smilest once, and empires seem but small;
Thy wink — a whisper from the Lord of All.

Thy path is drawn by none, yet none may stray,
From thy soft pull, which leads both night and day.
The stars themselves attend thy quiet will —
And in thy glow, the restless heart grows still.

O’ gentle orb, thou art the soul’s reply,
To questions cast upon the silent sky.
O’ cheerful faced, conversing like sweetest poetry you are —
A spark of truth, a whisper from afar.