'Not Like Him' Stands The Minaret Of Life Poem by Mystic Qalandar

When silence first entered my breath,
it sang of birth, it sang of death—
a raga of atoms, the Command's decree,
the word, "Be! " unfurling the endless sea.
Then came Your voice, a shining flood,
from Throne to Footstool, flame and blood.

When the eye of night half-closes,
I glimpse You in the stars' soft proses:
in their laughter, in the moon's pale lap,
where primordial light folds its map.
You are the smile the Lord once traced,
through Muhammadan Spirit, forever graced.

When I close my eyes, Your form ascends,
the mirrored sky bends, begins, and ends.
In the galaxies' whirl I feel Your hands;
each planet obeys Your silent commands.
The spheres themselves, in veiled refrain,
speak Your state in a hidden chain.

Dream and waking melt and blend;
in one, no parting; in one, no end.
You are the Beauty, none can compare;
each beauty points to the Beauty there.

When the breeze strokes my cheek, I hear
as if my mother draws near to me,
touching cheeks with her gentle palm;
each wall, each threshold, steeped in calm.
My dwelling breathes Your shadowed grace,
each courtyard learns Your hidden face.

I am that child the Beginning found,
from nothingness, a thundering sound:
"I breathed into him of My Spirit, "
then asked me in His presence:
"Am I not your Lord? "—the echo replied, "Yes, "
and servitude crowned what pride denied.
The Muhammadan core, the radiant flame,
lit the cosmos and named my name.

Now each particle holds Your hue,
in silence, in motion, in memory too.
Your remembrance—the pearl I keep apart,
the lamp, the compass, the pulse of heart.
The stars hold course by the light You give,
and I learn again what it means to live.

Though You are the truth—"None is like Him"—
yet rise in me as a minaret of light;
a root unseen, both first and last,
where galaxies shatter, where souls are cast
into the valley of peace, the final shore,
where all returns, and none stays apart.

—September 26,2025