None But Allah Decides Poem by Mystic Qalandar

It feels good to realize—
it does not matter.

Deep within, we know:
this world is a stage.
Each one plays a part—
some more, some less.
Some cruel, some merciful.
Some guilty, some just.
Some unbelievers,
some believers.
Some lost, some guided.

Yet all are part of the same play—
some serious, some not.

Often, I do not say:
"I will do this, I will do that."
I make no plans—
why, where, or how?

What is meant to be unfolds.
Among infinite tasks,
what comes first rises,
whether I am ready or not—
and I move forward.

I act according to
what has been decreed—
before creation,
in accordance with the Truth.
I live fully, freely,
to my deepest core,
as the Truth wills.

All do the same,
even if unaware of why—
whether by compulsion or freedom.

Every passion.
Every struggle.
Every stumble.
Every climb—
all of it waits.

To test.
To flee.
To encounter things
that will not come again
for the first time.

And when everything turns,
when control slips,
when deeds become a blizzard,
and shelter is found—

Return.
Back to the beginning.
Before the noise.
Before the burden.
Even before feeling.

Before matter was matter,
before darkness was light,
neither good nor bad—
just expanding.
Just happening.
No plan.
No script.

And yet—
everything is exactly as it should be.
Everything is as it always was.
Everything is as it always will be.

Vast.
Ever-expanding.
In the cosmic ocean.
Between galaxies.
Silent, yet witnessing all.
Infinite.
Always.

And through it all—
only Allah remains.

—September 2,2025