Whispering Soul Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Whispering soul, when you descend
from the unseen garden of paradise
onto the silent breast of the earth —
a golden leaf,
fallen soundlessly
from the eternal tree —
pause a moment
on the breathing dust of God,
until the hidden wind of eternal truth
lifts you away from the world of names.

Whispering soul,
you did not come to earth broken.
In the Lord's star-filled heavens
the truth of the One sang within you —
a secret
that even the angels of light
could not fully grasp,
a melody
before which even the honeyed music
of paradise's houris would grow dim.

Whispering soul,
having descended here,
you longed in estrangement
until your longing
grew larger than your name.
Then reality,
hidden behind earthly veils —
which first answers deep prayers
with silence —
opened the luminous gates of becoming
and drew you upward,
out of the spinning galaxies of forgetting,
beyond the edges of time.

Whispering soul,
one day it will be revealed to you
that your shaping, your blossoming,
your beauty, your decline —
are all a veil
behind which eternity
quietly perfumes the dust.
Every withering, every blooming
is a letter
written in the language of duality,
addressed to the Beloved,
in the ink of illusion.

Whispering soul,
tawhid reveals itself
in the silent tongue of transcendence.
Ahadiyyah
waters sweet roots
even in dark soil
and leaves the light of its love
upon those hearts
most ready to open.
For paradise remembers perfection,
but the earth
remembers becoming.

Whispering soul,
the eternal call of Kun
reveals its being
through the turning of seasons.
In the breath of Kun fa-yakun,
eternity manifests so wholly
that boundless time and space
seem, before it,
no more than a single moment.

Whispering soul,
you were never merely fallen.
This descent too
was part of a sacred turning.
What appears as death
is simply this:
that Al-Haqq
in the darkness
is changing its garment —
and at this secret
even the stars tremble.

Whispering soul,
the intimates of Ahadiyyah
do not cross fearlessly
the unseen rivers
flowing between worlds.
Even moonlight, for them,
stills upon black waters.
And in those darknesses
Al-Haqq holds them
as a lover holds the beloved —
until the lover begins to dissolve
into the beloved,
and the beloved into the lover.

Whispering soul,
gently, with open hands,
even in the rain-soaked fields of autumn,
your unseen reality
remains with you,
as a tender father
lifts his child from the ground at dusk,
holds him softly in his hands,
as though
touching a trembling manifestation
of his own eternity.

Whispering soul,
keep this secret within yourself:
that you
are a hidden star
in the galaxies of Ahadiyyah,
drinking light
from its moonlit cup.
And your station is so exalted
that you
touch the light
of its hidden face,
and it
leaves upon your being
a soft blush of love.

Whispering soul,
and yet
you cannot claim
to know it fully.
For it has concealed
its incomparable beauty
in every mortal thing —
in winter rivers,
in trembling lips,
in the grief of separation,
and in the brief fragrance
of union's flowers.
Every beautiful thing
carries within it
the unbearable whisper
of that reality.

— MyKoul