My love for him was unreasonable; he had neither the glory of the history of Damascus nor the greatness of the culture of Baghdad, he had neither the fascination of the mosques of Cairo nor the immensity of the skyscrapers of Riyadh.What he did have though is a child’s innocence, an inner fragility; only a few could feel.
He had the heart of an angel, only soft lips could utter…
He scribbled his words on the wall of my life so endlessly…
From a minute to another, he skillfully carved his existence on a never ending bundle of lines…
Now he is gone… And I am only left with echoes of his last breaths and the silence of the emptiness his presence used to occupy…
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