The Lost Child Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Alone—a stranger in this foreign land—
I felt like a child torn from his mother,
her memory aching in my heart.
A restless longing to go back,
to rewind every single moment.
Even here, I never let the dream of home fade away.
With every step, I pressed forward,
my gaze fixed—Mā Zāgh al-Baṣar—unwavering.

At night, within my soul's quiet chamber,
I turned the pages of the Book of Life.
In the silence of the Umm al-Kitāb,
I found secrets hidden like pearls,
wisdom and jewels for my spirit.
Verses divine descended on my heart
from Ghayb al-Ghuyūb—the unseen of all unseen.
With Alhamdulillah, I wrote them down
on the Lawḥ al-Maḥfūẓ, the Preserved Tablet.
By their light, a guide walked with me,
whispering:
"He shows the path
to the home of Majesty and Beauty."

Placing my hand on my heart,
joyfully, I say:
"We are the ancient dwellers of this home! "
"We are the ancient dwellers of this home! "
Each repetition melts my sorrow,
drowning all weariness in stillness.

But…
Can anyone truly return to such a place again?

Ah! Upon arriving here, I realized—
I was the mother all along.
Loving, silent, kind...
The sanctuary of the soul.
And all this time, I believed
I was only the lost child.

MyKoul