Hermitage Of Dervish Rajab Poem by Mystic Qalandar

In a humble wooden hermitage,
raised on weathered stilts
upon a floating isle
above the still waters of Dal Lake,
there dwelt Dervish Rajab—
saint, sage, and intimate of God.

Around him, ancient willows bowed,
their long fingers trailing the surface
as though writing prayers upon the water.
The lake, calm as a polished mirror,
held sky within its arms
and a deeper sky within his heart.

A cool breeze wandered ceaselessly
through the open quiet of his dwelling,
bearing the faint murmur of Hu—
that breathless Name
echoing through the hollow reed of all creation.

Far from the clamor of desire and dust,
he sat absorbed in stillness,
his inward gaze fixed upon the Light
that neither rises nor sets,
whose presence fills all worlds
yet lies beyond all worlds—
the Eye behind every eye,
the Breath beneath every breath.

His was not the learning of ink and pages,
but wisdom drawn from the boundless Ocean
into which all rivers of self return.
He had drunk from the fountain of certitude
and spoken from the station of direct beholding,
where knowing and being are one.

Those who entered his presence
felt their hearts catch an unseen flame.
His silence was instruction,
his gaze a gentle undoing,
his remembrance a lamp
in the darkened chamber of the soul.

He had passed beyond names and forms,
beyond the turbulence of division,
into the depths of Tawḥīd—
where opposites are reconciled,
and every shadow finds its source.
There he beheld no I and no Thou,
no seam between lover and Beloved.
The drop had entered the Ocean,
and the Ocean had entered the drop,
and all separation dissolved into peace.

The mountains were his scripture,
the lake his prayer mat,
the stars his rosary beads.
The world itself turned into remembrance,
each form a mirror of a single Light
shining through every atom.

Blessed were those who came to his hermitage.
A sacred stillness would descend upon them,
and they would leave carrying a living ember
from the fire that never fades.

How shall language hold such vastness?
How shall the heart contain
what overflows the boundaries of speech?
He was a martyr to Love itself—
all that remained of him was its luminous trace.
He passed from vision into truth,
from longing into silence fulfilled.

Hush now, O my heart.
Speak only in reverence here.
Do not press the eye of thought
against what the Merciful has veiled—
for only hearts made bare and open
are granted such unveiling.

Peace upon Dervish Rajab—
master of remembrance and nearness,
whose stillness became a doorway
for those who seek across dark waters,
until they too arrive at the shore
where wandering ends:
the Absolute Unity, the Eternal One,
beside Whom there is none other.

— MyKoul

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