Death Coming from the mist

It is a guest that we do not ever love and avoid talking about it. We see it rarely. It  Joins us only and rarely  in grief and crying meetings. The deceased is mostly either an elderly or a sick person who is tired from disease and doctors. We share expressions of grief, sorrow  compassion and solace and pray, with  patience of faith or patience of habit to accept the inevitability of fate, for those who are still alive with longevity.

But the dark fog wrapped the place and death  has become  undesirable guest that we have to accept due to our belief in the inevitability of the Destiny. Our hearts cry for its visit and our weakness refuses but to appear very evident .

The deceased nowadays is not an old man or a sick person,  but they are those young people who returned to their families wrapped with flags  and flowers accompanied by the  joy of women and the rain of roses and rice where words of compassion and blessing mix with women’s joy.

Everyone congratulates those heroes’ martyrdom before expressing compassion as if the people who died in the past are the ones who deserve compassion and mercy. But the late now is the person who distributes the mercy of the Creator and offers forgiveness granted to him from the Lord of the worlds to his beloved.

The late today has got a  new name. It is the martyr. It is one of the greatest names because it takes its title from the titles of the Lord of the Heavens and the Earth. God has given him his name and raise his stature and make him an intercessor for seventy of his family and beloved.

The heart grieves and the eye cries shedding tears for the martyr and the  thirsty land will saturate and blooms because it embraces a visitor  from  paradise.

One of the mothers in my town told me about her son, Younes, the martyr, who has left his study at the university in Tartous and joined to the National Defense Forces to defend the homeland against the Takfiri  groups who are waging  a mad war against our country . She said: ” I used to share the mothers in my village their grief on their hero sons  and to  trill cries of joy with them while they were receiving the bodies of their martyred  sons. I did not know that my son would come back to me quickly wrapped with the homeland flag and I did not and never imagine that these women whom I have offered condolences and shared them their joy and sadness for the loss of their sons will gather in my house to give me condolences for the martyrdom of my son.  It was too  hard and unbearable for me to utter or shrill the cries of joy for his martyrdom, but I realized that I have become a mother of the hero, the martyr, like the rest of the mothers in Syria, so I unleashed the joy of my heart, the joy which could not but be translated by tears only, the tears of joy for the honor that I have got and the tears of sorrow for the son I had lost “.

The silent father who looked for a long time to the body of his son which is covered with the homeland  flag and colorful roses, fell to his knees to kiss the casket and said: “Praise be to God who honored us with his martyrdom. Now I am proud that my son’s picture  has been added to the pictures of the martyrs that adorned the village’s square.”

“The blood of our beloved sons would but oil the shinning torch of Syria’s inevitable victory over the forces of darkness and barbarism and Syria will always be but the beating heart of Arab.” he stressed proudly.

Amal Farhat – Homs Correspondent.