Which Beauty

When I look at a beautiful girl
I wish I was beautiful as her
But for how long if so, I wonder
A few years time down the road
Until my skin becomes shrivelling old
And the gray settles in my hair
My crippling bones all creak
And left of my youth is only one streak,
On the top of my head
Whatever of that beauty is still left?
I imagine asking myself in the mirror
Eyeing the picture on the wall that is her
The foolish woman who desired beauty
Has become the corpse in the cemetery
Under layers of dust, solemn, tight lipped
Covered with more dust still
Touched with mud that is wet from tears
Grief that plainers and beauties bear,
Is everything alright?
She asks the mourners on the tombstone
True, the Creator will set right every single bone
This is not your final abode
It would be what you strove for
And when the blast is thus heard
The woman rises and walks forward
To the coming, not the going
Not the end, but to the beginning
They have been gathered in the judicial zone
In the dead a new life has been blown
All people of all times await
The plainers that they used to hate
All men and all women
Also the beauties they have been appraising
There is fear on all faces alike
Nothing of the beauty, only dread strike
Would she know she is to be immortal?
Or look at the blazing fire opening a portal?
Would she be the possessor of eternal bliss?
Or be amid stones on which fire would hiss?
What will be left of the beauty now?
That would be meaningless either way
A dirty speck of memory in the paradise dweller’s mind
Or washed off the face by fire so blind
I reprimand myself there of, and dismiss
Those trailing thoughts and that empty wish
I wish and pray to Allah for a heart beautiful as her face
For the eternal beauty is not the beauty of the face
Oh Allah save us from fire and the torment within
And enter us into heavens with things more precious than beauty therein

By Easha Radia Khan.

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