The Chair Of The Nile Poem by Mystic Qalandar

From birth, my heart was wild,
cradled in the fragrance
of the unseen.
When I set sail upon
the Nile of the soul,
my 'nafs' was stone—
yet stern as a mentor.

Light poured a river
through my veins,
dawn unfurled the sails,
the wind of Truth took my hand—
and I drifted with the breeze.

The 'nafs' wielded
intellect, reason,
and the mind preened
at its craft.
Its smile kindled hope—
for the first time, I gripped the oar.

But the shadow of Pharaoh
darkened the Nile,
the heart quaked
at the desert's breath.
Then—
the helmsman of Eternity
appeared,
his palm outstretched in grace.

I took it. He smiled;
his grip held
the fury of storms,
his gaze,
truth's ageless majesty,
his silence,
the first song—
the one poets chase.

He led me to fishermen,
taught me to sail
against the wind,
to read the breeze,
ride the current,
steer
from the shelter of shade.

Again, I journeyed the Nile,
a day without end—
until night whispered,
Drop anchor,
and a shore emerged.

I rested in that garden's shade,
listened to the murmurs
of the Eternal Friend.
He never praised Himself—
only told my tale.

When stars stirred
beneath the dusk,
he stole a kiss—
like the breath of 'Alast.'

The Nile split
night's veil,
swallowed all into itself,
spun darkness into peace,
flames into embers.

All are mirrors of the One—
the Nile, the boat, the boatman,
every breath humming
the same endless tune.

He said:
'We loved—
as love was meant to be.'

There I stayed.
The Nile flowed on,
its rhythm shared with birds.
Good morning, blessed Nile—
to every song in your current,
I am here—
for in every ripple lies
my beginning,
and my end.