La illaha il Allah.
Murshid,
My Beloved,
I have no roses to lay at Your feet;
No golden garland,
Not even a sweetmeat.
All I have is this:
An oblation of words.
Sprung forth from my very soul,
in footsteps of circles,
and gestures of half moons –
Echoing Light. And Darkness.
Darkness and Light.
Spinning around and around,
Entangled
in long sinewy webs
of this, and that longing.
Murshid.
Imam-e-Zaman,
Mazhar of Allah.
Light.
La illaha il Allah.
Where is the Light?
I’m lost.
I cannot see it.
Where?
Over there, did You say?
Is that it?
Is that the Light?
Is that You?
La illaha il Allah.
Where are You?
Echoes of Light and Darkness.
Darkness and Light.
Are You here?
Without You – I am forlorn.
Oh my Beloved.
Show Yourself to me.
Where are You?
In this zenith of Darkness?
Where?
Here. And Here. And Here.
In Each Breath.
La illaha il Allah
There is no frankincense,
no myrrh,
no minaret,
no minbar,
no qibla,
only You.
Murshid.
When I fell. You came.
When I stole. You came.
When I crashed. You came.
When I killed. You came.
When I wept. You came.
Again. And Again. And Again.
Lifting me up,
Higher. And Higher. And Higher.
Into the Light.
Until, at last,
I see, that
There is only You.
Only You. Only Light. Only You.
La illaha il Allah.
Murshid,
My Beloved,
I have no roses to lay at Your feet;
No golden garland,
Not even a sweetmeat.
All I have is this:
An offering of my soul.
La illaha il Allah