To the people I know and to those that were there in the land of the whispering dunes, the singing sand and the stars that came to the earth at night so bright and the best welcome any of us ever got upon arriving home from school, the flares from the air.
The Black Camel has visited us once again and this one is too much for me. I have to say that in the summer of 1968 I found a love that blossomed for the summer and disappeared as I went blindly and boldly into a world and life that was like a Spain's Galleon without a rudder. To run ashore with a tearing crash and a horrifying loss on the rocks of the death of love. That wreckage today floats ashore on the Ras Tanura beach, part by part, mostly of my heart.
Can you remember the soft lips of a young kiss, the exquisite touch of a soft caress, the beating of two hearts that knew not what was really happening and the immortal touch of lying and holding one another on the side slope of Hamilton House hill? Well, I do and the memory is what the shell of what I have left will lose any form of feeling of sanity and only live in the the memories of swatches of life in a movie like fashion where I never got to edit and therefore lost most of the movie.
I so vividly remember the smell of Lilacs and Jasmine and the softness of the ground and in particular, the aura of the glow of the softness of her hair, the sweet honey of a kiss and the sweaty grip of life in holding hands,
One time in forty years did I see my Princess and I wrote about it in my Memories of the Chander 1997 Reunion. Those words will be engraved on the crumbling ruins of my heart and soul. At that time we were once again back on Hamilton Hill and the world was alive again. Unfortunately her honor was so very important for both of us that we held hands and softly danced at the reunion, but never was the soul of my dear Princess or her Knight ever compromised.
The last I got was a sweet note telling me that I would always ride the roads of this earthly plain as her Knight in shining Armor and she signed the small scrap of paper ,forever in my heart as "Your Princess"
Tonight the tears that flow are a path for the Black camel, bathed in gold and diamonds to follow to her place with our brothers sister and friends who have carved a spot in God's acres called Aramco Heaven. My Mom and Dad, brother and friends will all be there, The Black camel shall walk with pride for he carries the greatest of a man's existence. His love.
She once again is wearing the jeans and tennis shoes along with a golden Abayiah that shrouds her in blazing brilliance as the candle of love in a living heart slowly flickering and dies, leaving only the smell of a wisp of the past.
I, on my knees do not know how to call for the strentgh to stand. The pool of tears is a lake of sorrow and the depth has torn me apart. I once, in 1997 on a trip to home buried a small jar with two gold Arabic name rings intertwined into the face of the great North Dune at the old Half Moon bay. Someday, they will be found and considered the heart of Arabia.
So maybe some will understand the foolishness of a broken heart and the why some suffered so much.
All I can say now is that I will place a Golden heart with two names by the Kaaba in Mekka and hope that Allah will see the love under His will. I will say good bye now to my Princess, Martha and hope that her life as she choose was a beautiful experience and that she was happy.
For all the rest of you, touch your loves heart once again and remind yourselves, of what you have and will have again if your heart is alive. For in this Princess passing, I did too in my spirit.
She had a good husband and good family and instead of being a speck of desert, she will always be a full blown desert sand rose of love.
Michael Crocker (DH65)