The Soul's Journey Through Fire Poem by Mystic Qalandar

From the first shadow of its birth,
the soul is lit with timeless fire,
and set upon a spinning earth
to wake from its own slumber's mire.

Stained by the self that cries "I must, "
each dusty particle takes form,
and shudders at the door of dust,
to know the secret, calm and warm.

Across the Bridge of Truth, it flies—
each heartbeat, by the Tablet scrawled,
dissolves in ecstasy, and dies
into the One, forever called.

This burning was decreed of old;
no vessel goes unscorched, untried.
This inner hell, this thirst and cold,
becomes the stair to Light's own side.

Each step, each patience, every beat
bears witness to the soul's great turning;
the self, by its own fire made sweet,
becomes a lamp, forever burning.

The ashes of the Bridge rise up
to kiss the feet that learned to yearn;
its cry is poured in Love's own cup
and does not call, but safe return.

Upon that shore of Is-It-True,
one soul alone may drink the wine—
the one the fire burned straight through,
whose shadow merged with the Divine.

But those in chains of dark and pride,
who drown in ego's hollow blaze,
whose walls of self keep Love outside—
their path is lost in rocky maze.

The fire, Bridge, hell—all are names
for that one war within the breast;
each breath a trial, each sight aflame—
not to destroy, but to attest.

Where fire becomes a shining thread,
where love and patience lift the veil,
the soul learns how the cosmos bled
to sing a tune that will not fail.

The Bridge, the flame, the river's grace—
all point the Way, all speak the Sign.
When trials leave no hiding place,
the soul kneels down in Light's design.

It opens there, it drinks the dawn,
it folds into the Nearness' ray;
the cup of màrifah is drawn—
and night has finally turned to day.

—November 22,2025