The Hidden Light.
O Seeker, close your weary eyes,
Let silence drape your restless mind.
For in the chamber of the heart,
The hidden Light you seek to find.
Not in the sky, nor in the stone,
Not in the temple’s golden dome,
Not in the scrolls of ancient lore,
But in the breath that calls you home.
O wanderer, pause your ceaseless march,
What kingdom do you seek afar?
No throne is greater than the heart,
Where Allah whispers who you are.
He made the desert and the rain,
The rivers' song, the mountain’s vein,
The hands that toil, the lips that pray,
The hues of night, the blush of day.
He shaped the clay of every land,
Each race, each face, each open hand.
No man is less, no soul unblessed,
For all are robes of His command.
O brothers, sisters, rise as one,
For love was breathed in all of you.
The Christian’s psalm, the Buddhist’s peace,
The Hindu’s chant, the Sikh’s Guru.
The Jew who weeps, the monk who sings,
The Muslim bowed in dawn’s embrace—
All drink from but a single stream,
All shine with but a single grace.
No road to Him is lost or wrong,
No tongue denied its rightful song.
The path is Love, the door is wide,
The home is where our hearts abide.
O Allah, cleanse our sight of pride,
Let no one stand alone outside.
For we are threads within one weave,
All bound in You, none cast aside.
No sword shall carve what love has sealed,
No war shall break what You have willed.
For those who kneel in dust and prayer,
Are all the children whom You bear.
O Seeker, turn within once more,
Let not the world’s illusions blind.
For in the chamber of the heart,
The Face of Allah shines behind.
The Veil of Light
(In the spirit of Ibn Arabi and Al-Hallaj)
A hush before the dawn descends,
a breath between the worlds—
where silence bows to hunger’s prayer
and thirst unbinds the soul.
O traveler, cast away your name,
for in this month of veils removed,
the self dissolves, the heart is wide,
a mirror turned to Truth.
The moon has carved a sacred path,
a thread through time and yearning,
where hunger is but love’s embrace
and thirst, a fire burning.
Not mine, nor thine, nor his, nor hers,
but One, the breath that sings,
One hunger felt in different tongues,
One thirst from different springs.
The beggar and the king alike,
the temple and the street,
all shadows in the light of love
where knowing and known must meet.
So fast, O heart, from all that binds,
from fleeting forms and pride,
drink not from ego’s empty cup,
but let the soul abide.
For peace is not a land afar,
nor God a distant throne—
but light within, a secret spark,
a Love that is our own.
The Gentile!
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