Dear Sir

And the days passed in their eternal course, and what was between him and the outside world nearly severed, and Qadriya stopped visiting him due to deterioration and illness, and he surrendered to his fate so he no longer cared about what was, what is, or what will be. And he bore the hours he spent with رضية with great discomfort, but he kept his sorrows to himself, and at the same time believed in their justice. And he remained steadfast in his firm belief in his sacred convictions, in the arduous sacred life, in jihad and suffering, in the distant exalted hope. He said that sometimes inability to reach it does not shake confidence in it, nor does illness nor death itself, as long as the drive to move towards it is responsible for the existence of nobility and meaning in life. And he hated hollow words of encouragement, and accepted that his pursuit of the new job was a dream, just as he accepted that his rise was another distant dream, and yet who knows?! And what pains him is that everything goes on its way without caring about him. Appointment, promotion, retirement, love, marriage, even divorce, political struggles and their frantic slogans, the alternation of night and day... And here are the vendors' calls heralding the approaching winter. And perhaps it is from the blessings of coincidence that the new grave has gained his approval under the sunlight.