My beloved,
should someone ever hand you this envelope, do not lose balance.
I am leaving you my only possession, a scarf.
When you touch it, you will feel the caress of southern winds and calls to the prayer.
This scarf has been hugged by strong women, protected at times my shoulders, always a rebellious turf unwilling to comply.
It caressed ancient buildings while running for safety, it jumped on public transportation and came shopping, to work when we had one.
It has been washed every day and dried overnight, even in January, of all the months, the coldest.
It dried some tears, often not mine, and hid unwashed hair when we had no more water.It was a layer under deluges on which I always sprayed our favourite perfume; a way to brave the day together.
Should someone ever hand you this envelope, remember there is only one layer between you and me, now. The layer of time when you will join me, for eternity is ours.
I hope you felt my love in life.
Yours, forever, Z.
The scarf now rests in H’s laboratory, in a cupboard with his finest leathers, locked.
The scents of leather, a mixture of birch, sweetness and earth combined with vanilla, Arabic oud, moss and rain.
The Southern winds the scarf captured now years back, fill the room with the perfume of two lovers.
Every morning.
H. looks outside and the sky displays clouds chasing different shapes.
He hears her voice: It is not ordinary at all to have a love to come home to
the talking of the soul 
We are human. There is a lot to be said about being human. There are 7.8 billion of us, despite constantly killing each other in wars and by a host of other means. Yet while we’re all made of the same stuff, in our distorted minds we’re all different – body and Mind are two different worlds, a division created by the powers imposing their wrought authority on the population by means of unprecedented mass psychology coupled with the imposition of fear, sanctioned by the vulnerability of a society that knows no other way than to live in the dark and take whatever comes as their lot while presuming to enjoy their ephemeral useless existence in the void of the grand scheme both on Earth and in the infinite Universe.
The most iconic human feat is the inseparable unison of feeling tragic loss of a loved one be it human or animal, and the indifference to tragedy directly or indirectly imposed on other beings, through whatever circumstances.
The “Scarf” in all its profound Arabic poetry is not merely one’s personal reflection, but mirrors the unspoken silence in the hearts of humanity by enlarge. The iconic irony is, however, yet again, displayed in this poem by “the scent of leather”, the skin of animals killed by numerous suffering inflicted practices, and “prayer” as a means to request an illusory figure to solve our self imposed woes.
The power of Collective Consciousness focused on Change and World Peace is dissolved in the excuse that “life has always been this way” and even if we wanted to “we can’t change the way things are”. We could, but perhaps we’re not trying.
So I wrote for change, World Peace, Sanity and Justice for all, on social media for 11 years, stumbling in the dark alleys of the public media internet domain, a dungeon submersed in an anti peace war zone where conflict meets conflict in an ever present dead end resolution.
I have broken the treacherous Facebook vice, I write for Peace no more, and add nothing to the World Peace Embassy web site anymore other than music – https://www.worldpeaceembassy.com/music.html – in particular the kind that reflects the best of the human being. I made one final exception today, I have added the Talking of the Soul story “Somewhere in Africa” to the site – https://www.worldpeaceembassy.com/world-of-war.html
Peace
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As usual, you nailed it. You have been doing so for all your life, through Voices for Change when you shaped and developed the project, Bob. Few paid attention, but it is always so.
There is nothing we will not experience in life, on different levels according to each one’s path and journey. Loss is one of the common experiences we all must face.
The Scarf was obviously written out of love. What do we leave behind when we move on? Better: what matters in life and when we move on? The riches and houses, assets and stock bonds? Had we the power to choose, what is it we decide to leave as a gift when our life ceases to be? Maybe, what truly matters are words, acts of kindness and something personal which tells our story. Nothing, at the end matters. No diamond rings, glamour or expensive gifts can have the value of leaving our story behind. Ourselves, our essence.
The scarf represents all this: one out of millions stories of lives passing by.
The woman leaves her story – as succint as can be – her love words and her scent.
Nothing else matters
(thank you for adding Somewhere in Africa to the website. It represents all the above: someone, somewhere in Africa, at a certain moment paid attention)
Be well, my dear
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