In The Valley Of Remembrance Poem by Mystic Qalandar

In the valley of remembrance,
within walls older than thought,
I wander through epochs, unguided.

Mystics gather there, retelling
the covenant: no sorrow, no grief—
only love and peace eternal,
never erased from the book.

I ascend the lane of memory and ask:
How did they recall the light
that touched a stone and whispered—
Am I not your Lord?

Is it from that stone I seek the covenant?
I aspire in sleep, I gaze in dream—
no voice behind me calling,
no step before me leading.

This remembrance is mine.
I grow lighter, borne on wings,
until transfigured—
I become the stone addressed by light.

Words bloom from the Messenger's lips:
If you do not believe, you will not be safe.
I recall my primordial state,
the good tree—roots in the unseen,
branches bearing unceasing fruit.

My hands—two honourable scribes—
record both shadow and light.
I do not walk, I soar;
a falcon of remembrance,
transfigured again and again.

I know no place, no time.
Then—who am I?
I am no I
in the presence of ascension.

Yet still, a thought remains:
Alone, the Prophet Muhammad
spoke of ascension—
and in his solitude,
I find the measure of my own.

—September,25,2025