Wading Across Veil Of Fog Poem by Mystic Qalandar

In the hush between waking and dream,
I glimpsed—through shifting twilight—
the sun emerging,
wading across veils of fog.

There—my murshid, my true self—
so near, yet untouchable,
a vision half-veiled,
truth and mirage entwined.

My heart leapt:
after an age of thirst,
it was him—
the hidden wellspring I had sought.

His presence lifted me
beyond the weight of earth,
beyond decay and worry,
into a realm of stillness,
luminous, tender—
a place etched in my marrow,
a place that sang of home.

Unseen, yet more certain than sight,
he was beauty without form,
sanctuary without walls—
the dwelling my soul had circled toward
since before breath,
since before memory bore a name.

It was no accident,
but destiny unfolding—
a return to Alast,
where the covenant was sealed,
where love, in its first breath,
called me back to itself.

Now nothing is broken,
nothing estranged.
The world is no exile—
only passage.

I walk in the echo of that vision—
every breath a returning,
every step a homecoming.

And I know:
home is not a place,
but the unveiling of presence—
the murshid,
the Beloved,
the origin and the end—
ever within,
waiting to be remembered.

There—my murshid—
more than guide,
his role the threshold only—
the secret shape of my own soul.
In his face, I glimpsed
the self I had long forgotten—
my fitrah unveiled.

Within the stillness of vision,
my true self awakened,
crossing the final veil—
alive in dream-light.

—September 17,2025