A Stranger Poem by Mystic Qalandar

A stranger,
exiled from his homeland,
walks silently among thorns,
gathering his cloak with both hands,
pressing forward without a word.

Night stretches—
a dark, haunting silence.
He had dreamt of dawn,
wept when it did not come.

Then—
lightning tears the blackness,
pours light into the horizon's circle.
Slowly, he turns,
step by step,
until the first true morning
touches his heart.

His tears of joy
kiss the air, the earth, the trees—
leaving them wet with tenderness.

He has returned—
to his eternal homeland,
where *Alastu bi-Rabbikum*
resides in every breath.

His final exhale: joy.
Now he soars—
through celestial heavens,
softly,
lost in songs and melodies,
walking toward the borders
of the great city.

No fear of hunger,
no sting of thirst—
no dry bread,
no empty waterskin.

The sound of God's remembrance
fills him,
and the water of *Light upon Light*
quenches all longing.

At the border, he stands—
back straight,
soul alive,
having tasted the truth:
*Die before you die.*

Draped in new robes of heaven,
he bows in prostration,
thanks upon his lips.

The arrows of Iblis's army
fall short now—
the whips that once exiled him
from the garden
cannot touch him.

Before the royal gate,
at Eden's orchard-mouth—
honeybees sip from blossoms,
drinking the nectar of life,
the same that intoxicates
like a *qalandar*'s ecstasy,
reminding us:
we were always eternal—

until the last veil lifts.