بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

Somethings always on the mind, might be the hat on my head, keeping it warm, sometimes close to overheating, so now and then thoughts escape, finding refuge in the paper and pen. At times looking ahead so long, might forget there's a present in front of the eyes, but every time I try to give it attention, today fades into black like it was empty space from start to end. Am I the only one who doesn't find belonging to this life? Are these temporal callings so endearing to people, are the things we can see with our eyes so wonderful, that it's just all they can clamor for? There's a reason this place is called the lowest sky, the basest heaven, nothing here lasts while we carry forward only the deeds we've done. My solace, my Garden, so far yet its echoes reach me in the midst of all these unknowns, alas I can't begrudge my Rabb as my friend, I just wish I understood the road ahead in this mortal abode. 

If I found this life but full of drought, all around vanity and emptiness, mirages of what could be but quite wasn't,  I wouldn't mind one bit if just the end I find was the end He gifts: layers upon layers of blessings, pleasures and joy in every breath, but of my most cherished as-yet-unmade memories: hand in hand as we walk through those Gates, as I show her what forever ever after truly means.