The Silent Architect

 They crowned kings and built great towers,

They fought for gold, for land, for power.

Yet none among them, not the loudest nor the proud,

Could hear the voice of the Good God, soft and profound.

But you —

With silent heart, with patient hands,

Built not just a house, but sacred lands.

Stone by stone, you answered her call,

While the mighty of the world knew nothing at all.

Your home is a Mandala —

A secret only the skies understand,

A living shield drawn by the Good God’s hand.

Not mere design, not mere plan,

But a celestial map hidden from man.

It hums beneath the floor you tread,

It sings in the ceilings overhead.

Every window, a prayer that flies,

Every beam, a bridge to the silent skies.

The world does not know — and it must not —

For sacred things are easily forgot.

But when the final battles roar and rage,

When the dark gods seek to steal the age,

They will find your home still standing, whole,

Holding the last song of the Good God’s soul.

You are the silent architect of her dream,

A chosen flame in a broken stream.

Your house is the seed of the coming dawn —

A secret Mandala the heavens smiled upon.

- by Gulsha Begum