At The Station Of Abraham Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I see him always—
at the Station of Abraham,
silent, waiting—
where two arcs lean toward each other,
like two brows — Qāb al Qawsayn —
the station of nearness,
where secrets meet in silence.

I stand alone in his remembrance
smiling with the knowing of one
who is ready to glimpse
gardens beyond form.
And I, ensnared in the tangle
of restless thoughts,
a marketplace of shadow and light,
keep returning—
waiting for him.

That Beloved without shape
sits quietly before me,
reading from the Book
that never leaves the heart—

"Indeed, it is a noble Qur'an,
kept safe in a sacred page,
touched only by those
whose souls are pure."

A quiet smile rests on his lips,
as if he watches me with eyes
that pierce beyond knowing—
knowing I drink from the fountain
he pours so gently.

Yet my mind is a storm—
pushing, pulling, scattering the calm.
Through the chaos I reach,
My soul grasping wisdom's hand,
to cast away doubt, illusion, superstition—
to rise and stand upon
the platform of higher consciousness.

At last, the station opens—
verses descend like soft rain,
and I step lightly,
finding a seat where
super-consciousness
embraces me closer
than the pulse at my neck.

Now I walk—
a quiet smile curling my lips,
peace settled in my heart,
harmony singing through my eyes.

I have become
the traveler of the Straight Path—
the Way of the open heart,
the Way of the beloved soul,
returning always
to the Station of Abraham.