Song Of Awakening Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Souls lie shackled
in chains of laws, rules, and customs—
yet another binds tighter:
the ego's illusion of autonomy,
veiling the soul's mirror in fog,
obscuring Wahdat al-Wujud's boundless sea.

Guides turned highway robbers,
the blood of the commanding self
spills everywhere—
like Abel's cry to the earth,
but no Cain heeds the One's echo.

That killing gaze descends,
suffocating soul and heart:
the Great Veil,
lain upon the heart's point
for millennia,
severing the self-reproaching soul
from the soul at peace—
duality's final fracture.

This cunning self cloaks every lie
in truth's garment—
a mirage of multiplicity
where Imaginal travelers,
beholding their reflection
in the world-mirror,
mistake fragmented self for God,
forgetting all is He.

Yet the Generous Lord suffices—
the Real alone exists—
to rescue humanity
from night's devouring dark,
unto the station of safety:
beyond definition,
where Qāba Qawsayn's secret
meets the Light of Lights,
and the Perfect Human's soul,
polish of existence's mirror,
bows to all creations
as rays of the One Sun.

Falsehood hunts Truth relentlessly,
sparing neither Jesus nor Moses—
as if cosmic law demands
Truth be tested,
revealing no true other than the Real.

Like a soldier in war-scarred lands,
scanning blindly foe from friend,
the partial intellect battles its shadow—
while the Universal Intellect,
eye of Wahdat,
witnesses silently
the non-dual play
within your eyes: He sees Himself.

When will God's creation awaken?
When recognize
the satanic self's deceptions—
Iblis, Divine Name in the Real's theophany,
burning in separation's fire,
unlocking love's door to unity?

The servant passing through
forfeits self in fana,
embodying the Merciful's Breath—
re-creating universes anew
as breaths of the One Essence.

I steel my heart for trials,
knowing annihilation's tree
bears subsistence in the Real:
baqa fi Allah, where all forms dissolve.

To live this age:
blessing and torment entwined—
this is 'Ayn al-Jam',
gathering-point of Wahdat,
where torment turns blessing,
blessing torment,
and the beholder's eye
merges sight in the Seen:
no seer apart from Seeing.

In resisting self, defending Truth
with steadfastness, courage, nobility—
soul's strength, inner conquest—
I bear witness to the One.

This is Fath-e-Makkiyya,
swordless victory in unity,
when the lapis-hearted self
becomes a mirror
capturing Eternal Beauty's reflection—
all worlds, His self-disclosure.

I refine myself to wrestle calamity's storms—
in every gale, Khidr's face, a descent of the Real;
beneath each wave, Sakīna's silence,
whisper of the One.

The knower, drop in boundless ocean,
bears witness: death and life
alike ripples of Wahdat's face.

News, spectacles, entertainments—
tyrannical self's distractions,
devouring the soul's innocent children,
as Pharaoh slew Israel's sons
at birth or cradle—
denying the Real's mercy in every form.

So plays the Pharaoh-self
behind unseen curtains—
Veils of the Unseen,
through which the Real shines.

When Khidr bores the boat's hole,
Moses cries, 'You have ruined us! '
Khidr replies: 'Know hardship brings ease'—
unveiling unity's hidden hand.
The helpless intellect stalls;
the gnostic sees only Him.

You name the blind, deaf, mute,
drowned in heedlessness—
yet awakening's song hides
in these chains' clink,
Wahdat's call from every atom:
letter from sound, idol from God—
only an eye's blink,
where multiplicity vanishes
into the Real alone.

MyKoul