I Am The Hidden Tashdeed Poem by Mystic Qalandar

My soul, a letter bearing tashdeed's weight—
doubled, intense, in pure concentration.
My path is shaped by my own footfall's fate—
on nameless trails, all echoes find relation.

The night holds no moon, only a face austere,
where unseen suns breathe fire without a smear.
The dawn brings no light, but the cosmos' strain—
a tremor rouses hope from root and vein.

My guide? No signpost, only a hand that weaves
a home where place and phantom shed their leaves.
No walls, no form—a silent breadth I cleave;
confinement's word, freedom beyond reprieve.

Love, uncontained—the grasp, the breath, the air—
spirals from light's spring in a soundless gyre.
Between Command and Creation's sphere, no span,
just the pulse of breath in a timeless trance.

I am its secret, flowing, unconstrained—
eternity's script in the current's dance.
Each pulse a question, each atom a reply;
the breath, the Adhan's note, lets every secret die.

At the edge of vanishing, voices chime,
a melody shunning form, yet keeping time.
All veils turn lucid to the soul's own gaze—
neither light nor clay, tethered in the haze.

This hidden tashdeed, existence's core, divine span:
Allah-bound, here—Creation's breath in man.

—November,28,2025