The Most Miraculous Power in the World

In the beginning, there was silence.

A breathless hush before the soul was carved.

And then, Love whispered into dust—

"Be," and man was born—startled, alive,

Cradled in the arms of the Unseen Light.

Not from wrath nor chaos we were made,

But from the longing of the Divine to be loved,

And to love in return, to reflect,

To serve, and to ascend.

Love is not flesh—it is fire and fragrance.

It burns yet heals, it stings yet soothes,

It starves and yet fulfills.

It is the waterless sea we dive into,

The mountainless heights we climb each day.

And among all loves,

The Love of God is the crown,

The origin and the end of every noble affection.

They say love is blind.

But the Love of God?

It is sight.

It sees you when the world walks past,

When your mother weeps, your father breaks,

When your lover turns her face,

God stays—unseen, unheard,

But more present than your own breath.

When pride makes you tall,

Love of God breaks you gently.

When ego blinds your eyes,

Divine Love pokes them open with irony—

Through the hungry child,

The beggar with a book in hand,

The prisoner dreaming of stars.

That’s how He speaks—quietly,

Through cracks in the walls we build.

Oh foolish man,

You seek the throne in gardens of gold,

You march on corpses for crowns,

You chase fame,

You craft false gods from zeros,

And wear your name like a god’s signature.

But what are you without the breath of Him

Who made you of clay,

Yet destined you for the Heavens?

You dig rivers of reason,

Yet drown in doubt.

You build cities,

But forget the Architect of existence.

You sing of stars,

But are deaf to the Symphony of the Skies.

You demand proofs for the Divine,

But ignore the miracle of your own eyelid’s flutter.

Oh, how satire finds a home

In your witless wisdom!

The Love of God is a cloak,

Woven not of silk but of sincerity.

It shields not from storms,

But from the terror of meaninglessness.

It does not promise riches,

But gives richness of soul.

It doesn’t whisper promises,

It thunders truths.

Love—pure, not performative.

Not for applause or curated posts.

Not for the image in mirrors,

But for the soul in ashes.

Not for rewards of paradise,

But for the Presence that paradise holds.

When fire burned the prophets,

It turned into a garden—

Because the Love of God walked with them.

When oceans blocked the path,

They parted—

Because Love does not let faith drown.

And when thrones turned into thorns,

God made roses from their wounds.

This is the miracle we’ve forgotten.

In your boardrooms and laboratories,

In scrolls of laws and policy debates,

Where is Love?

Not your lust. Not your politics.

But the Love that bows before no man,

Yet washes the feet of the forgotten.

You pray with your tongues,

But not your hearts.

You bow in mosques and temples,

But you rise with pride in your veins.

You fast, not for purification,

But for praise.

Oh irony! The love of Self

Wears the costume of Servitude to God.

But Love of God—real, raw, radiant—

Changes a man.

It makes him just even when he’s wronged.

It makes him kind when the world is cruel.

It makes him silent when anger knocks.

It teaches him that victory lies in surrender—

Not to man,

But to the Source of all victories.

It makes a man weep not from pain,

But from the sheer beauty of Mercy.

It makes a man give,

Not from surplus,

But from sacrifice.

It makes a man smile at death,

Because he knows—

Beyond the grave lies not darkness,

But the embrace of the One he loved most.

God does not need our love.

He is Self-Sufficient.

But we need His.

For without it,

The sun is just fire,

Water is just wet,

And life—just a slow, painful decay.

With His Love,

Even exile becomes a sanctuary,

Even prison becomes a palace,

Even illness becomes a teacher,

And death—a reunion.

Do not mistake the Love of God for leniency.

It is not a soft cushion,

It is a sharp chisel—

Carving you into who you’re meant to be.

It breaks you to build you.

It wounds to heal.

It strips you naked so you see—

You were never dressed in truth.

Love is the sword of the saints,

The ink of the poets,

The fire in the eyes of martyrs.

It is the secret in every sigh of the lovers of God—

Those who look mad to men,

But are drunk on Divine nearness.

The angels envy them.

These ragged men and veiled women,

Who smile at hunger,

Who speak little,

Who weep in the nights

While the world snores.

Because they carry in their hearts

What kings can’t buy—

The Love of God.

You seek pleasure,

Yet ignore the Fountain of Bliss.

You chase applause,

Yet forget the One who shaped your throat.

You adore beauty,

Yet ignore the Artist of all forms.

How tragic!

You fall in love with shadows,

While the Light waits quietly.

Let me tell you of the strength of Love:

It cracked Pharaoh’s pride,

It softened Umar’s rage,

It melted the snow on the hearts of tyrants.

It turned wolves into shepherds,

And beasts into believers.

This Love does not bind—it liberates.

It does not enslave—it enlightens.

It is not transaction—it is transformation.

It turns the arrogant into dust,

And the dust into diamonds.

A man who loves God

Does not raise his voice

But raises the fallen.

He does not walk tall

But lifts the weary.

He does not hoard,

But hides his giving like a pearl.

His eyes carry the weight of eternity,

His hands the service of humanity,

His lips speak little—but with meaning.

He is the echo of Divine Kindness

In a world choking on noise.

But let me not romanticize.

This love hurts.

It calls you at night when you long to sleep.

It asks you to give when you have nothing.

It demands you forgive those who broke you.

It doesn’t flatter—it burns.

But in its fire,

You find your true face.

So I say to you—

Fall in Love.

Not with faces,

Not with words,

Not with fleeting passions.

But with the One

Who wrote your name in the stars,

Who watched you in the womb,

Who knows your every breath,

And still—loves you more

Than your sins could ever separate.

Love is not weak.

It is the reason the universe stands.

It is why the sun rises again.

It is why a mother forgives,

A friend returns,

A sinner prays,

And a heart broken into dust

Still beats.

And when that Love of God enters you—

Truly, deeply, eternally—

You are no longer a man.

You are a mirror of Heaven.

You are a fragrance in a world of rot.

You are water for the thirsty,

Shade for the traveler,

A light in this long, dark corridor of time.

For what is man, if not a candle waiting to burn?

And what is life,

If not a test of Love?

To walk this road with broken sandals,

Yet a whole heart,

Beating not for this world,

But for the One who made it.

Yes—

The Love of God is the most miraculous power in the world.

It changes everything.

It changes you.