🌿 In the Garden of Rahman 🌿

In silence I wandered, beneath the sky wide,

Where mountains wore veils and the stars used to hide.

A whisper of winds sang the tales of the One,

Of hearts that had melted like snow in the sun.

I drank from a stream where no traveler goes,

It spoke not in words, but in soft mystic flows.

Each drop was a verse from the book of the soul,

Each ripple a mirror to make the heart whole.

O seeker, O stranger, lay down your pride,

The road to the truth has no walls to divide.

It asks not your name, nor the weight of your gold,

It listens to love that the heart dares unfold.

The rose does not bloom for the praise of the bees,

It dances alone with the hush of the breeze.

So be like the rose, in your fragrance be free,

Let silence compose your own soul's melody.

The world is a shadow, a trick of the light,

It fades in the day and it deepens at night.

Yet those who have seen with the eye of the heart,

Know truth is the flame, and this world but the spark.

The poet, they say, owns no garden or stone,

But sings for the lovers who walk all alone.

And Rahman, he whispers through verses and rain:

"Who bows in love’s temple shall never know pain."

So let not the glitter of crowns make you blind,

The richest of hearts are the simplest you'll find.

Be dust if you must—but the dust on His door,

For kings of the world will be dust, nothing more.