I Stepped In Without Knowing

I stepped in,

barefoot,

heart open like a bowl,

into a room lit by longing

for something beyond names.

They called it a gift—

Purpose of Life—

but no signs warned:

"By invitation only."

No signs,

only the silent pull

of a soul aching to sit

where truths are spoken

and the self dissolves.

And there,

among the sangat,

words fell—

not like rain,

but like stones wrapped in silk.

Soft to the ears,

but bruising the spirit.

I looked into those words,

searching for my guilt.

Did I dethrone a brother

by simply being?

Did my truth cast a shadow

on another’s light?

But all I had were offerings:

some tears,

some questions,

a shard of insight

gathered at the cusp

of pain and awakening.

I did not wear a crown.

I did not climb a throne.

I only came barefoot.

And yet,

something in him

tightened—

a tremble in the voice,

a guarding of the gate.

I do not blame him.

He has tended this garden.

He has watered it

with his nights and Naam.

I only wish

he had seen me not

as a trespasser—

but a traveler,

with dust on my robe

and love in my eyes.

So I bow,

not out of shame,

but reverence.

I bow to his gift,

his path,

his kingdom.

And I walk away

not empty—

but full.

Because even if the gate closed,

the Door is everywhere.

May he be blessed

with oceans of grace.

May his voice reach hearts

I never could.

And may I always remember—

Truth does not need a microphone.

It only needs

a quiet place

to echo

eternity.