On Judgement Day 
as we trudged the valleys toward the fields
of our collective reckoning, I saw a sufi soul
among the blackly damned and the brightly blessed

He shone brighter than any other at first sight
but the further I studied him the more I came to see that he was empty of his own light source,
reflective like the moon

A translucent core, yet beaming, pulsing
brimming from the edges of his being
A strange thing to behold
His selfless existence, lived even after death:
to magnify the light of those around him like a lens

So sad I was then, to see him sent to that deepest depth worse than the seven hells
to that great nothing reserved only
for the godliest of nihilists for wasting their earthly hours

For by withdrawing from his fellow man
and brushing away his footprints behind him with each step,
his sublimated ego had committed the biggest conceit of all against his divine Creator:
to reject the divine light of his own life

Great sufi poems tell of the conference of birds that searched for their kind’s greatest, and through great trials and tribulations 
came to find them within their own reflections 

Yet here this sufi mystic who saw God in every reflection but his own…
Oh, but if he had only looked down at the water!

Instead his soul was snuffed out.
As in life, so too after it.
Fanaa.