Behind the Veil of Seclusion: The Return of the Soul, International Sufi Poet Sayeeda Sharmin

International Sufi Poet Sayeeda Sharmin

In the deepest solitude of the night,

when all the sounds of the world were slowly extinguishing,

I had concealed myself within the silent chamber of khalwa.

That stillness was not merely the silence of a room;

it was an inward pilgrimage of the soul, 

a concealed Hijrah from the clamor of creation

toward the Presence of the Creator.

That night there was no human invocation,

no enchanting echo of praise,

no heavy shadow of complaint.

Only my weary, wounded, and wayfarer soul—

and Your silent yet all-encompassing Presence.

Prostrating myself in sujood, I came to realize:

how effortless it is to appear strong before creation,

yet how profoundly difficult it is to shatter oneself before You.

For in Your court, masks hold no worth.

There, even tears cannot deceive.

There, the language of lips falls into silence,

and the soul begins to weep in its own tongue.

That weeping is soundless, yet more thunderous than thunder;

invisible, yet it ascends beyond the Throne (‘Arsh).

That night I did not articulate any supplication in words,

nor did I arrange phrases or construct sentences.

I simply laid down my fractured existence,

my imperfection, my arrogance,

 my concealed anguish,

my unseen wounds——-

at the threshold of Your Mercy.

And I beheld:

that arrogance which once appeared as immovable as mountains

began to dissolve in the warmth of a single tear.

That night I understood:

khalwa is not merely distancing oneself from people;

khalwa is the emancipation of the self from the ego.

It is to leave behind one’s “I,”

to displace arrogance from the center of existence,

and to return wholly toward Allah.

When the world falls asleep,

when the markets of life fall into silence,

when humanity loses itself within its dreams—

then certain souls awaken in search of Your Light.

In that nocturnal stillness,

my sighs transformed into dhikr,

my tears into silent supplications,

and every fracture within my heart

became a doorway opening toward Your Mercy.

It felt as though silence was not merely silence—

but a language so exalted

that even the angels listen with reverence.

Today I have come to understand:

weeping is not weakness.

To weep for You,

to have one’s heart melt in the pain of Your absence,

to long for Your nearness in the darkness of night—

this is among the rarest and most precious gifts of existence.

This world dries the eyes of humanity,

hardens the heart,

and imprisons the soul within the cage of distraction.

But for the one whom You love,

You cause a hidden spring of tears to flow within the heart—

so that it learns to weep not for creation,

but for You alone.

The silent darkness of Tahajjud

and the suppressed weeping of a servant,

perhaps this is the purest poem of the earth,

the most immaculate dhikr,

the most truthful supplication.

Even now, in the depths of that seclusion,

I continue to search for my lost soul.

The heart that once became as stone amidst the crowd of people

is now learning, through the touch of Your silent Mercy,

how to soften again.

Now I desire nothing.

O my Allah,

grant me such tears—

tears that seek not human praise,

but only the path of Your Pleasure.

Grant me such a khalwa—

where all worldly sounds are extinguished,

and only the Presence of Your Light remains awake.

Grant me such a heart—

that even if it is shattered a thousand times,

even if it is torn apart by a thousand storms,

it never bows before any door except Yours.

And grant me such a soul—

that traverses all worldly paths

and ultimately returns only unto You.

For You are the final refuge,

the final love,

the final silence,

and the final return.

Indeed, to Allah we belong and indeed to Him we shall return.

“Innā lillāhi wa innā ilayhi rājiʿūn”

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Copyright © International Author / Sufi Poet