Beyond Milk and Honey

I don't want rivers of milk and honey.

I don’t want Kawthar flowing silver at my feet.

I don't want silk gowns or jeweled palaces.

I don't care for trees that never wither, or skies that never darken.

They say in paradise, there's no pain—no longing, no fear, no goodbyes.

But if you're not there...

Then what kind of paradise is that?

If I must enter a garden

where your gods are strangers

and your hands are unreachable,

tell me—

how is that reward?

I don't want a heaven that erases my memories of you.

I don't want a perfect world where your name means nothing to me.

What's the point of peace, if I had to lose the chaos he brought into my heart?

I would rather stand before God

with trembling hands and a divided heart

than pretend I never loved you.

Let them offer me golden cups and endless light—

I'd trade them all for one moment in the dark,

If it meant hearing your voice again.

Because what they promise me isn't love.

It's quiet. It's... empty.

I don't want eternity if it doesn't have your laughter in it.

I don't want paradise if I can't reach for your hand.

So if the gates open

and they call my name—

if gardens unfold

and rivers shine—

I will look behind me first.

And if you are not there,

if your shadow does not fall beside mine,

then let the gates close.

Let the fire rise.

I will walk barefoot into it

with your name on my tongue—

and call that

my paradise.