A Battle Fought Within Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Upon the Razor's Edge of Loss
I stood—
free, yet falling.

The poison of weariness
had entered my veins;
the ceaseless war
with the rebellious self
had severed the roots of courage.
Sacred feelings
lay numb as stone,
while ancient, fragile delusions
clamped my heart in chains.

The lamp of hope was dark.
I was caged
within iron walls
where even breath was agony.
Satan showed me gardens lush and green,
yet tore the wings from every prayer
that dared to rise toward heaven.

Then my true self cried out:
"This hell is not your home—
turn back to your rightful place,
where freedom dwells,
where light abides.
Listen—listen well!
Hear what He says,
and ponder—
what will you say in return?

Release the wandering pain within you.
Come—let us seal our vow:
Fulfill the promise made to your Lord,
and the black Satan
shall never touch your soul again.
For all eternity
he will remain in hell.
But know this—
the final strike
must come from your own hand."

I gathered
my spirit's strength,
drove the blade of revelation
into his chest,
and wrenched him
from the heart
he had wounded for years.

With a blood-wet sword
I chased him from the field.
Pain, anger, grief, and sorrow
flowed drop by drop
from my heart,
sinking into the earth.

He smiled—
"Now I am overcome,
now I believe,
I yield before you,
and I proclaim:
No one shall hurt you anymore."