To Heaven
(on struggle, sacrifice, and love)
By: Rizal Tanjung
–
At the trembling edge of day,
beneath a sky that holds wounds and whispered prayers,
a soul walks with shattered steps—
toward a home not found on any map,
yet etched within the memory of light:
Heaven.
It walks not alone,
the wind follows the chant upon its lips,
the sun wipes the dust of weeping from its eyes.
It carries something unseen:
a heart once broken,
a love that cannot be bought,
and the scars of inner wars
never broadcast on television.
> “I want to return,” it says,
not to the earth,
not to a house,
but to the sky once promised
by the whisper of silence in the deepest prostration.
Struggle.
It battles the poison of lonely nights,
fights desires dressed as delight,
resists the seductive hands of the world,
while clutching tightly a thread unseen—
faith.
There are no swords in its grasp,
only patience,
dripping from its quiet sweat
as others choose the shortcut.
It continues through the dark corridor,
each remembrance scraping its soul’s wall:
“La ilaha illallah.”
Sacrifice.
It surrenders its laughter to silence,
weaves hunger into prayers,
breaks desires for hopes
that the world cannot reach.
It releases the wrong love,
for the love that never dies.
It forgives the unforgivable—
for the sake of the Most Forgiving.
> “O Lord, take all from me,
so long as You do not take Yourself from me.”
Love.
Not the love of a world that tires quickly,
not the love of humans who shift with the wind,
but the kind that shivers the bone,
a love that defies description—
that brings tears to the prayer mat
without reason the mind can name.
A love that smiles in solitude,
knowing the Beloved sees.
> “My beloved needs no flowers,
only a heart filled with light.”
And then, it reaches a night
where the world holds its breath
and the angels fold up time.
It lies in a prostration long and silent,
no words, no requests—
only a simple hope:
> “Let me come home, O Lord,
to the dwelling You promised
before I was ever born.”
There—
no battles,
no tears,
no goodbyes,
no fear of love lost.
Only eternal gardens,
and His Face—
the One that makes every struggle,
every sacrifice,
every trembling love—
perfect.
That is Heaven.
Not because we are worthy,
but because He is Most Merciful.
West Sumatra, 2025
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