Dance of the Houris

Say what of the houris in heaven

So lost in their elaborate dance

As they move, they weave in the air

Delights, like gales of thunderstorm

With a serene quiet, they witness

Sinners in eternal bliss

In heaven, forlics the self-righteous

Benefactor of God’s merciful whims

They lie with the maidens

So pleased with themselves

In their arms, they whisper

“By God, you’re the most beautiful one yet”

Habits of men, they still lie

Still cheat and still cry

The houri, the little maid of anguish

Smiles back, unsure and alone

How fates collude

Even in heaven, the houri is but a tool

To be used, mused and forgotten

Desire innate, for the righteous to have their lust placate