My beloved. I write about you in language you didn’t know. I write about you on this website that was open when the telephone came that turned the lights off in my life. You had no idea of this spot in Cyber world, where many members live in the nation of those who are in your country and keep it occupied. You had a great sadness and mixed feelings and fear for your relatives about this. Those who came to read my posts here may understand now why my heart bleeds so much for Iraq.
Nothing matters anymore, so I don’t know why I do this. I only feel the need to honour you for the whole world to see it, even if it is only for a few moments in the cycle of time.
I don’t care that I don’t know this language I use to try to express my feelings. You didn’t know it either. You had no need for anything but yourself for being a fountain of wisdom and a sea of love.
My beloved. You were there the day I was born. You were there when I said my first word. You were there when I made my first steps in the world. You were there to teach me where my father went when I could not understand why he died. You where there when my mother died. I always kept a sharp remembrance of that moment when you where there, in her room, to make the promise that you would never leave me.
She died and the family gathered to decide about the responsibility to raise the orphan child. You simply decided to raise your love for me and to give me all you had in your heart, as if there was nothing else you could have done.
My beloved. I still hear the sound of your voice on the telephone only a few hours ago. You told me about the latest daily trivialities that kept you occupied and then you switched to that complaining tone you reserved for asking: When do you come home …
And you added: You leave me here to die.
Of course I saw no reason to take you serious, no reason at all for alarm. You always said the same in your attempt to put pressure and a feeling of guilt upon me. So typical a woman of our culture and a woman of your time. So I laughed and said you knew you would survive me.
I should have ran. I should have flied. Yet I delayed to come home to see the lights of love in your eyes. I was misled by life itself, the comforting thought that there was no reason to hurry because you were always there and always had all the time for me.
Death gave us no warning.
I shall come home now my beloved. I know you shall be beautiful in death, reflecting the beauty of your life. I know you shall be silent. And cold like a marble statue when I kiss you. Yet on my way to you, when the plane climbs above the clouds and the wonder of God’s creation unfolds as far as I can see, I shall feel close to the living you on your way to Paradise.
I shall put you to rest with my parents, my children, my family. In the Taj Mahal of my love and where my history resides. For I would not be the man I am without you.
You were the personal gift of God to me.
My beloved. I miss you and your love, your presence. I miss your smile, I miss your voice.
I miss your eyes, your face, my senses miss the compassion behind your choice.
I miss you. All my feelings shattered. Missing your touch of tenderness.
I miss you in all what ever matters. Today . And tomorrow. Measureless.