Nothing weighs down the heart like the passage of that gray cloud laden with sadness in the sky of our homeland, leaving some of it in the homes of the family here or there. It comes to seize the joy, laughter, and things of kindness that reside within us, and we love them. With their passing, they are like a wound that is difficult to heal, or like a fossilized tear in the eyeballs. And although life has its laws, and death is a right, it is the only reality that man has known since he settled on this earth, and he tried in his eternal struggle as a caliph on this earth and the shepherd of its architecture, and in his many attempts in the search for immortality and its herb, to make a difference or record a victory for the heart. matters and adjusting the equations of life, but he surrendered to the mystery of the soul and its stubborn secrets, the annihilation of the body, and that mysterious time that he could not capture. Therefore, death has the majesty of its presence and the reverence of its rituals. We have nothing but tears towards it, and those things that constrict the chest, hold back the smile, and release it. The tear, and the hot groan like a burning ember.
Over the past few years, that gray cloud has passed over our skies more than once. With its passing, we have lost many dear people, friends, close associates and acquaintances, creative people, and many loyal and faithful guardians of the homelands. We have also lost leaders, presidents, sheikhs, people in the prime of their lives, and others in the radiance of their giving. Just as we have lost many of our preservation and memory of people and places, we have lost many great references for things that have not yet been written down. We, before and after, are patient, counting on the reward, asking for supplication, and the reward for patience. Such people are capable of shaking a person’s foundations, and their loss is capable of crushing the ribs of the chest. We cannot live again.
This gray cloud, which resembles heavy sadness, has been difficult to leave our week without making us cry twice, and leaving wound after wound that will not heal. The death of the “Colonel of the People,” Sheikh Tahnoun bin Muhammad, with his splendid presence, the prestige of his presence, and that support on which we lean, and yesterday the absence of Sheikh Hazza bin Sultan II is in the prime of his life, as if he is similar to Hazza bin Sultan I in terms of the number of years, and no matter how people grieve out of compassion and are sincere, and the grief of relatives is obligatory and they are truthful, and the grief of successive place goes to the grandfather first, the father second, and the son third, it is like the grief of that honorable woman. The venerable woman who is patient with her great and greatest loss. She lost her big brother a week ago, and lost her eldest son yesterday. A sadness that cannot be equaled by grief, and an affliction that cannot be equaled by an affliction. O God, strengthen her heart, guide her fear, make her soul content, and grant her the reward of the patient, repentant, truthful, and righteous, and cover her with your mercy. And your kindness, and your great benevolence, and bring your tranquility to her, O Lord, O Merciful.
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