Testimony Of Presence In Exile Poem by Mystic Qalandar

The rain falls—
the earth receives its tears.
What now of the eternal promise?
A bitter mood dissolves into ether.

Tell me of your life on earth.

I remain in love with the One
who summoned me into being,
even when I am held
in the illusory arms of shadow.

A moon of night beckons—a hope
for the sun at dawn.
I am only moon,
night's vigilant witness,
gazing toward my distant light,
who whispers as day breaks
that night's absence
is but a feigned sleep,
a dreaming veil.

Slowly it ascends
in a snow-soft dawn,
robed in silver.

I question my reflection
in the void's primordial mirror,
searching for the Word.
I recall the kindness of silence
before all things took form.

Here, now, everything is cold.

Tell me again—
of your life on earth.

I was a broken strand of pearls,
scattered in a blizzard
of tormented feeling;
a venomous flytrap
adrift in night-flight.

Does the earth always
weep such tears?

I walked this clamorous sphere,
hemmed in by somber faces,
no longer knowing
victim from tormentor.

Beside me, a painter greets each dawn—
brush in hand,
sketching a Renaissance vision.
Yet earthly eyes miss
his hidden majesty.
I taste only
the quiet mastery of his art.

An ancient hand anoints
the eyes of my soul—a rite.

Through all time, since He chose
to seek through me,
probing even the snow
of the hereafter
for His echo—
the scattered call of Alast.

Once I fled, a thief in the night,
after crying Balā.
But now I know:

the night was never abandoned,
the moon never alone.
The sun never departed—
it lingered,
woven through the dark.

Loss was only a veil upon sight.
Separation, longing's dialect.
Light has always breathed within night.

The promise was never broken—
only awaiting recognition.

—January,4,2026