In The Service Of Humanity Poem by Mystic Qalandar

Centuries old, this hallowed path—
Kashmir's valley, tender earth.
Guests would rest in quiet grace,
Hosts would cleanse their weary feet.

At dusk, the elders came home,
Faces burnished by the sun;
Children waited by the door,
Serving with sweet devotion.

They washed the feet that bore all day
The honest weight of toil and life,
And mothers' hands—soft, time-worn—
Blessed the humble hearth they kept.

Each act became a wordless prayer,
A whisper of love, a mirror bright
Of all His messenger once taught—
In service, worship burned.

O Lord, rekindle in our hearts
That grace of ancient giving;
Let us serve each other still—
To wash the feet of the weary,
To mend the hearts thinned by time.

Where rivers meet, love flows anew;
Pride dissolves, and souls unite.
In mercy's stream, a quiet peace
Descends—deep, abiding, still.

What word, what deed shall we bestow
To sow this peace upon the earth?
Let one pure act of kindness rise—
A light against the dark.

We are Your servants, here below,
To know You, and to love You true;
To walk the path our Master walked—
Serving all creation, serving You.

Let this old custom breathe again—
In every land, at every door;
Where tired feet are bathed once more
By hands moved purely by love.

Then all the world shall gather still,
One in You—complete, entire.
When hearts bow low and hands reach out,
No soul is strange, no home afar;
The dust from shared feet becomes
A silent sign—of love, of peace, of grace.

—October,21,2025