From Alif To Meem: The Secret Of Being Poem by Mystic Qalandar

From Alif rose the secret tide of Oneness—
a wave unseen by eyes yet known by every heart.
In Laam, the wine of Revelation shimmered,
drop by drop filling the cup of existence.
And Meem—ah, Meem! —
resting place of the Beloved's light,
where certainty descended like a moon
upon Muhammad's heart.

Three letters—
yet the whole tale of Unity sleeps within them.
Their echo brushed the mirror of the soul,
and from Alif to Meem each sound returned
as a song from the realm without place.
Hidden meanings opened like dawn-lit petals,
each whisper declaring: "No doubt remains."

Here rests the hidden pearl—
of knowing, and of being known.

The lower self murmured,
"This is nothing… a mirage."
But the inner heart heard a gentler call:
"Purify yourself—this is the first step,
the opening page of the Book of Light.
In this very darkness,
the dawn of guidance waits to rise.
Within you lie the seven skies;
within your naming, the seven earths."

The six days of creation—
how deep their mystery flows!
Six stations on the traveler's path:
from the trembling of the first step
to the Throne where all tremblings cease.
Time becomes a dervish here,
changing robes with every breath.
Set your heart upon the station
where annihilation blossoms into everlasting life.

For from heights to depths,
one command flows—
a river of light descending
from spirit into form.

Light is a dancer changing shapes;
a single moment stretches into centuries,
and a thousand-year journey
folds into a single glance.
The hidden is Yours—silent, unseen;
the manifest is Yours—bright as day.

Two worlds,
two reflections of the same Face:
Mercy and Majesty meeting
in a single breath,
marking the path of every seeker.

Out of clay you were lifted—
a drop shaped in the fairest form.
You are the mirror
in which the Creator gazed
and saw His own reflection.
He straightened your form,
breathed His spirit into you,
placed insight in your eyes,
understanding in your heart,
awareness in your soul.

He gave you ears to hear Truth,
eyes to behold Beauty,
a heart to recognize the Friend—
yet how faint your gratitude blooms.
And you ask:
"When we turn to dust,
shall we rise again in another form? "

How could the heedless know—
those veiled from union,
wandering far from the inner sky—
how could they see the curtain lifted?

Death is no ending—
it is the door to another dawn.
The One who raised you from dust,
carried you to spirit,
and adorned you at every stage,
gave meaning even to the dust beneath your feet.

Now I vanish in this prostration—
lost, dissolved, gone
in the Presence of the Beloved.
This is the descent of the hidden soul;
this is the secret of Being—
the moment
when the Creator steps from behind the veil
and shines through His creation.

— November,7,2025