The Distant Thunder Part Two
Du’a Khalil Aswad
There is one particularly disturbing account relating to a seventeen year old named Du’aKhalil Aswad, a Kurdish girl from the yezidi sect who was beaten and stoned to death in Bashika, in the Nineveh province of Northern Iraq. This is near Mosul. Her crime? Dating a guy who was Sunni Muslim, allegedly fornicating with him, and converting to Islam.
She was ostracized by some members of her family. But not her Mother, Father, or two brothers.
Cross religious relationships are forbidden by ancient yezidi tradition. A tradition that goes back over five millenia. The penalty for such a transgression – death by stoning.
The account goes something like this:
It was sometime after dinner on April fifth, 2007 when Du’a said she was taking out the trash, then she disappeared. The next morning an angry anonymous caller told her parents that she was seen with a Sunni Muslim boy. The caller then threatened to kill her himself to ‘wash away her shame’.
Du’a's father, Khalil Aswad, a forty-nine year old civil defense official, and his brother Nebrass, went to the police. Her father hoped to get Du’a into the safety of police custody, knowing she was in danger. It was several hours later that Du’a and her Sunni Muslim boyfriend were seen together again, this time in an olive grove. That’s when the police caught up with the two. Her boyfriend was put in jail, and Du’a was taken to the home of Sheika Sulaiman, a senior yezidi figure in Bashika. By now everyone knew about Du’a being seen with the Sunni Muslim boy. Many of her relatives were fiercely divided on whether she should live or die.
Du’a's sixty-five-year-old uncle Salim, a science teacher, backed the head of their tribe, seventy-three-year-old Omar Hamco, who demanded she be killed to ‘cleanse the family honor’.
Du’a's father, Khalil, would not accept it. This was his daughter, for heaven’s sake! He proposed she be married to a cousin and relocated with said cousin to Syria. He knew he risked being ostracised by going against yezidi customs.
“She committed a wrong for which she will be punished, but not death“! Khalil Aswad declared. “I refuse to have my own daughter killed!”
When uncle Salim insisted that is was he who would decide Du’a's fate, as he was the oldest sibling and head of the local community, Khalil threw him out of the house.
Meanwhile, Du’a's mother, Badii’aa Aswad, had gone to the home of Sheika Sulaiman to see Du’a for what would prove to be a heartfelt last meeting.
“I promise you that I am still a virgin“, Du’a tearfully told her mother. “And I did nothing wrong, momma”.
Badii’aa believed her. After all, Du’a had never been a troublemaker. She had always been a good daughter. She excelled in school. She was always kind hearted with everyone. She had a kind and gentle nature and so much love to give.
By now Du’a was trembling as she began to cry softly. “I am hungry, momma, I am so scared. I-I don’t know what to do“, she sobbed as her mother held her in her arms.
“Please, daughter of mine, come home, let me cook, let me feed you” Her mother sobbed.
“I just want to live my life. Why is that so wrong?! W-Why does it have to be like this?!” Du’a wailed as her mother tried her best to comfort her as best she could.
Du’a managed to get herself under some control as she continued: “It’s my life and my future, I only want to follow my heart. I just want to live in peace with the man I know I truly love, and I know he loves me!“
Du’a's last words trailed off into a torrent of heartbreaking sobs. Tears streamed down her youthful cheeks.
Her mother wept softly as well as she held her distraught child tightly in her arms. She knew the tribal customs, but this time she believed they were wrong, centuries out of date. She also knew with silent anger that she could do nothing about it.
“Oh my baby, my little angel Du’a“, Badii’aa wept as she held her daughter. “It’s going to be all right, one way or another. Mamma loves you!”
“I -I L…L..love you too, mm-mama,” Du’a tried to say between sobs.
It was then that Du’a's mother decided the only thing left to do was to smuggle her daughter out of Bashika to where she would be safe. And allowed to live her life as she chose. Badii’aa knew full well that is would be a matter of time before the village elders found out what she had done. And then she would be facing certain death.
Badii’aa made the choice that she would die in Du’a's place so Du’a could live the way she deserved to live. There could be no other way. Badii’aa said none of this to her daughter as both of them held each other and cried until there were no tears left.
After a while she told Du’a to remain at the home of Sheikh Sulaiman while she worked out a plan. Then she held her little girl one last time, kissing her on the cheek before she got up to leave.
On mid morning of April 7, 2007, Hamco, the tribal leader, received word through one of his many informants of the plot to smuggle Du’a out of Bashika. He telephoned Du’a's uncle Salim and told him of the plot. Uncle Salim immediately got word to the others of the impending plot, telling them to carry out Du’a's punishment at once.
Minutes later, at the house of Sheikh Sulaiman, There was a loud commotion coming from down the street, and it was getting closer. Angry shouts and gunshots filled the air as they approached and surrounded the house. Du’a realised too late that she was in an ambush situation.
Her uncle Salim and several of his sons and nephews began to hurl rocks which clacked loudly off the stone and stucco siding of the house. Windows shattered as more and more rocks were hurled at the house. The front door was kicked in with a sickening splintering of wood as they stormed their way in.
Du’a made an attempt to run for it, but she was trapped. She managed to hide, but it only delayed the inevitable. One of her cousins spotted her hiding under a desk. Another cousin grabbed the desk and threw it aside. Du’a cried out in terror.
The cousin who first spotted Du’a grabbed her in a headlock and savagely dragged her across the room, down the hall, and out the shattered front door and into the street.
A group of cowardly yezidi demon men (2,000 or more) plenty of rocks, and a few cinder blocks awaited her. Members of her own family (Her two cousins and their father, Du’a's Uncle salam) had sold her out.
The yezidi demon mob attacked.
Du’a was thrown to the ground, then repeatedly kicked, punched, stomped, and pummeled with rocks. They taunted her and egged each other on as they tortured her. Shouts of “KILL HER!!! KILL HER”!!! echoed through the demon mob. Her long, black skirt was torn off her in humiliation as stone after stone struck her face and head as she cried out for mercy.
The police were right there the whole time, yet they did not intervene. They just stood by and let it happen, believing it was a ’tribal matter’. Tax dinars at work.
Du’a's pleas and agonized cries for help that would never come only emboldened those yezidi demons.
Several times she tried to get up, but was savagely kicked to the ground each time. Two yezidi demon men grabbed her feet and spread her legs apart. A third kicked her square between the legs with all the force he could muster. Du’a shrieked in pain and terror as a lightning bold of white hot agony rocketed up her spine and down her legs.
Then a large stone struck the left side of her face, shattering several teeth and gashing the inside of her cheek in dozens of places. She cried out in terror and agony as she spat up blood and shattered fragments of her teeth.
Another yezidi demon jumped up and came down with both feet on her right knee, painfully fracturing her knee cap in several places.
A carefully aimed cinder block struck her in the face, breaking her nose and fracturing her upper and lower jaw and shattering her front teeth. Her beautiful face slashed in dozens of places. Blood ran in rivers down her neck.
She spat up more blood and shattered teeth fragments as she continued to wail in pain and terror. The volley of rocks continued.
Du’a's father tried to get to her, but the yezidi demon men held him back, and if that weren’t bad enough, they forced him to watch! The yezidi demons were relentless as they continued to torture Du’a.
Another hard stomp broke her right fore arm. Another yezidi demon grabbed her broken arm and gave a hard twist. Muscles and tendons were ripped to shreds as Du’a shrieked in agony. Ragged edges of bone protruded through her skin.
Another yezidi demon grabbed her left arm and twisted. In a sickening sound of breaking cartilage, splintering bone, and tearing of muscle and tendon, her elbow was twisted violently out of joint.
A large chunk of concrete aimed at her head fractured her skull.
One of the cinder blocks was used to repeatedly strike her already broken right knee, shattering her kneecap and laying her knee wide open.
This barbaric assault went on for thirty minutes. Those cowardly yezidi demon men made damn sure she suffered, and it is clear they enjoyed every evil second of it. Several others were recording this horrific scene with their cell phone cameras like it were a sporting event.
Then end finally came when her uncle Salim told everyone to stop, which they obediantly did. He patiently waited for Du’a to painfully lift herself to a sitting position, bleeding and crying in agony unimaginable.
He then raised the cinder block as high as his arm would allow. Then he brought it down with all the force he could muster.
Du’a's final cry was instantly silenced as that final and fatal strike shattered the right side of her skull in a sickening sound of splintering bone and ripping flesh. Her blood spattered in all directions as she went down for the last time.
Her body convulsed in sickening death spasms, her head laid open. Crimson fragments of her skull littered the pavement. Her blood beginning to coagulate on the hot asphalt street.
At the tender age of seventeen, the beautiful raven haired Du’a Khalil Aswad, a young spirit so full of life, love, and inspiration, so much to give, her life barely begun, now lay face down in a pool of her own blood. Lifeless.
A sudden and loud cheer went up as those barbaric yezidi demon men danced their ‘victory’ dance around her now lifeless body. They spat on her and kicked her as they ‘celebrated’. A few of the yezidi demon men casually brushed her skull fragments off their clothes like they were reeds of grass.
To them, this was nothing but a fun night a ballgame, and the home team had won a decisive victory.
After they had had enough of their cowards victory celebration, her body was tied to a pickup truck and dragged to the outskirts of town to the garbage dump. She was thrown into a shallow pit with the decayed remains of a dog as a final defamation. Symbolically, to show, that she was more worthless than shit. Family honor had been restored according to yezidi custom.
It was later when Du’a's parents found her half buried body in a pit next to a garbage pile where she had been thrown half an hour ago. As they painstakingly extricated her shattered body, authorities of the Kurdistan government showed up. They intended to take Du’a's body to the hospital in Mosul for an autopsy to prove she was, like she had maintained, a virgin.
Du’a's parents reluctantly allowed this, hoping this would vindicate their daughter of fornicating with her Sunni Muslim Boyfriend.
That night, copies of the awful videos of the atrocity were being exchanged among others in the yezidi sect from cell phone to cell phone. One of the yezidi demon men compiled the videos together and sent it to members of the Sunni Muslims with a message: “Prostitute Du’a was ours to punish as we saw fit!”
Several Sunni Muslims, along with Du’a boyfriend, Muhannad Ummayed, watched in helpless horror as Du’a was slowly, painfully and brutally murdered. Muhannad barely made it out the door to throw up. He then ran away, not to be seen for several days.
An anonymous local later said that Muhannad took his own revenge. Mulhannad snuck into Bashika that night with a rifle and plenty of ammo. He hid behind a low wall, saw one yezidi man heading up the street in his direction. Mulhannad took aim and fired.
The yezidi took it in the chest, the force of the bullet snapping his upper body violently back, then momentarily airborne as his feet came off the ground. His body did a near backward somersault before his upper body struck the ground. His legs and feet slammed loudly down on the dusty street. He lay motionless and was dead a second later.
Then Mulhannad snuck a few streets down till he found another low wall to hide behind. Through a window, about twenty yard away, he could see two men, posibly father and son, seated at a table. He drew a bead on the younger man’s head and pulled the trigger.
The top of the younger man’s head exploded in a red and grey mist of blood, brain matter, and skull fragments.
The shrieks of several women immediately followed.
The father’s first reaction was to leap up, where he and Mulhannad made momentary eye contact half a second before the next bullet violently impacted his throat, and exited through the back of his neck in a crimson fantail of blood, bone, and tissue which splattered throughout the room. The sound of female shrieks went on and on.
The police were summoned, and began a frantic search for what they thought were multiple snipers. Further down, more and more gunshots rang out one at a time in quick succession. Three more yezidi men now lay dead.
As he reloaded and searched for another yezidi demon male target, images of his beloved Du’a echoed through his mind in sound and visual: Her smile. Her soft raven black hair. Her sweet laughter, Her warmth.
Her playful and kittenish antics. Her heartbeat.
The vibrancy of her soul, powerful as the sun. He could still feel the magic of her touch, her sweet caress. Her eyes that could shine to eternity.
He could still feel the magical sensation of her loving embrace. Of her smooth, soft kiss. The life giving warmth of her angelic soul.
The one image now super imposed over all else: His beloved Du’a face down in a pool of her own blood and gore. Lifeless.
The yezidi demon men who did this to her – dancing, shouting, almost as if mocking him: “Yeah, we killed her, and what are you gonna do about it??!!”
Muhannad knew his way around, as the bungling police searched in vain for him, powerless to stop his feral rampage, revenge in his eyes.
He snuck around from place to place in and around Bashika, picking off one yezidi male after another. For every yezidi male he shot dead, was, to him, just one more of the thugs that had taken part in the slaughter of his beloved angel. He made sure not to hit any women or children.
His rampage finally ended when he ran out of ammo. More than one hundred yezidi males lay dead in his wake. Some had been asleep in their beds. He snuck quietly away as the sounds of women wailing and children crying rang throughout the town. Law enforcement officials might as well have been chasing their own tails as he slipped past them unseen. A wraith vanishing into the night. Then Bashika began to fall away from him.
He jogged for a while, rifle still in hand, the barrel still hot to the touch. His jog became faster and faster until he was running. He ran until civilization was long behind him. He ran until he could run no more. He ran and ran in hopes that he could outrun the tragedy his mind was only now beginning to comprehend.
How much later was it when he found himself in a small canyon. A canyon twenty or so feet wide. The jagged walls of sheer granite thirty feet high on each side. Boulders and rocks strewn about. The half moon toward the southwest casting a grey kaleidoscope of light and shadow.
He wailed a loud, primordial howl that echoed off the barren rock as thousands of images of Du’a flashed relentlessly through his mind: The humiliation as her skirt was violently torn off her. The terror in her eyes. Her cries for help that would never come. Her agonized shrieks as her bones were shattered.
To him, the world was awash in her blood. Her violated body appeared and reappeared in one horrific ghostlike image after another.
He swore to himself that he would kill more yezidi men if given half the chance. But in the end, all he could do was wander aimlessly in the desert as night and day seemed to run together. Time had no meaning. Life had no purpose. He was like one lone survivor of a nuclear holocaust as he wandered sightless through the smoldering aftermath of what had only hours before, been his future.
You’ve got to feel for the poor guy. He just lived every guy’s worst nightmare of watching his girlfriend, whom he loved very much, tortured to death in the most gruesome manner, and not a damn thing he could do to stop it.
Back in Mosul, an autopsy performed on Du’a's shattered body proved she was still a virgin. Du’a's mother, father, and two brothers reclaimed her body to be taken to the cemetary for a proper burial. They held their own impromptu funeral for Du’a as she was finally and decently laid to rest. Sadly, Mulhannad could not be there.
Badii’aa, Du’a's mother, still in a state of shock, remained at her daughter’s graveside all day. As the sun went down and the sand stone tombs cast long shadows over the village cemetary, Badii’aa Aswad knelt on the dirt grave of her seventeen year old daughter, and wailed in anguish as the cruel reality finally began to set in.
“Come to mama, my precious Du’a” She cried as she caressed the plain concrete headstone. “The last thing you told me was that you were hungry,” Badii’aa sobbed. “I said you could come home, let me cook, let me feed you,” She tried to say as she dissolved into uncontrollable sobs.
A long time friend heard the heartbreaking wails of Du’a's mother and offered water in hopes of soothing her. But Badii’aa screamed that she could not drink a drop.
“Du’a is thirsty.” She shrieked, directing her friend to pour the contents of her water bottle over the dusty grave instead. “Yes, drink, my angel, my precious, honorable girl, light of my eyes.”
All Badii’aa could do now was wail endlessly that of o mother who was living a mother’s worst nightmare. A nightmare from which she could not awake.
“May they all burn in hell,” she finally said, her sobs beginning to taper off as she laid her hands at the foot of the grave as if washing her daughter’s feet.
“You were a good girl, you were the epitome of honor, and I miss you more than any words could describe.”
She broke down and wept for a few more moments, then pleaded in a whisper: “Please, my angel, come to me in my dreams just once, I beg you, my beloved Du’a, oh daughter, my gentle child.”
Grief overtook Badii’aa again as she began to wail endlessly while her friend held her in her arms. Badii’aa Aswad was living the cruel and seemingly endless nightmare so many mothers have had to live. The brutal murder of her own daughter in the name of ‘family honor’.
In the Sunni Muslim sect, and elsewhere in Iraq, the horrific video footage was being circulated through emails and from cell phone to cell phone. It was only a matter of time before it would find its way onto the Internet. The Sunnis knew by now about the autopsy report that vindicated Du’a of any wrong doing. Her own people murdering her like that was so damn senseless. The Sunnis were ready to accept Du’a into their community.
If only she could have been smuggled to safety in time. She would have had a good life with the man who truly loved her. Those devil worshiping yezidi demon men would pay for what they did to her. The Sunnis angrily vowed retribution. And retribution they had.
Two weeks after Du’a's murder, a group of heavily armed Sunnis caught up with a bus load of workers headed home from Mosul to Bashika. The Sunni gunmen surrounded the bus and forced it to stop. They displaced the driver by force and drove the bus a few hundred feet, then they turned down a narrow alley while several other Sunnis checked ID’s. Their armed escort of several cars and pickup trucks followed closely. A few minutes later the bus stopped. Anyone who was not a yezidi was told to get off the bus.
The Muslim and Christian workers knew all about what had happened to Du’a at the hands of her own people. They quickly exited the bus, which then sped off. Everyone, by now, had heard the repeated demands by the Sunni elders, who demanded that the yezidi hand over to them the nine thugs responsible for the murder their martyred sister, or face the wrath of Allah.
The yezidi had been given one week from the day of Du’a's murder to comply. At this moment it was now a week past that deadline. The yezidi would not give in. They stuck to the notion that Du’a was theirs to punish as they saw fit for dishonoring the yezidi religion.
After the Christians and Muslims had disembarked, the Sunni gunmen drove the bus and twenty three captive yezidis to a secluded place near eastern Mosul. The other armed Sunnis in the several vehicles parked on both sides on a vacant dirt lot bordered on one side by a crumbling ten foot high concrete wall.
They marched the captive yezidi workmen off the bus at gunpoint, then lined them up against the wall. They ordered the terrified captive workers not to move as they stood lined up side by side against the wall. Dozens of angry and heavily armed Sunni glared at them. Several of the Sunnis spat at the yezidi workers as they held their weapons on them. A video camera was brought out from one of the Sunni’s cars.
Then, with the camera rolling, the Sunnis shot each yezidi worker several times, individually picking off one yezidi worker after another.
After each of the twenty three yezidi workers lay dead, the Sunnis reloaded, put their weapons on auto-fire, and proceeded to empty their magazines into the twenty three bodies as they lay on the ground, the camera catching it all in its gruesome horror. Blood and gore spattered everywhere as the guns thundered their song of death and revenge, painting the lower quarter of the old concrete wall a bloody mural of death.
After that was over, one of the Sunnis, his face hidden behind a mask, stood before the camera, and made the demand, soon to be seen by the yezidi elders, one last time: “You will hand over the nine devils responsible for the murder of Du’a Khalil Aswad, our beloved sister and friend, or you will face the wrath of Allah!!! This is your last warning!!!”
Then they panned the camera slowly back and forth, giving would be viewers a shot of hell.
The Sunnis took several still pictures of the carnage before speeding away in their cars and trucks. They left the bus where they had parked it, and twenty three ripped apart yezidi bodies, which, by now, were beginning to attract flies. The media would call this the Mosul Massacre.
The yezidi elders lost no time demanding more protection from the Kurdistan government in light of what had just happened. They also demanded the murderers of the twenty three workers be brought to justice.
Are the yezidi really dumb enough not to realize by now that what they did to Du’a pissed a lot of people off, and not just the Sunnis? Makes you wonder. Because they continued to ignore the demands of the Sunnies. And the Sunnis weren’t the only ones with a axe to grind for what the yezidi did to a defenseless beautiful young lady.
World wide, people were horrified when they saw the grusome video of Du’a's gristly murder. Because by now, it was on the internet for the whole world to see. Several news outlets, like CNN, played portions of the slaughter to mortified viewers. Bashika became the most hated town on earth. Once it was an oasis of peace, now it was withering under the harsh glare of the entire civilized world.
How can what the yezidi did to Du’a be justified? What had she done that was so wrong? What could justify what was shaping up to be a whole new war in the Kurdistan region? How can anyone be that cruel and that stupid? Family honor, aw hell, let’s be real. It wasn’t ‘honor’, it was the over inflated egos of the yezidi demon men trying to justify what happened to Du’a. Did they really think the civilized world would agree with them?
One thing for sure is that the atrocity against Du’a painted the ugliest picture of the yezidi culture, and what horrific acts they are clearly capable of. Not to mention the purpetrators of Du’a's honor killing clearly enjoyed every damn second of it, as could be seen in the video.
World wide outrage resulted immediately after that ghastly video got onto the internet and the evening news worldwide. Life has always been tough for the yezidi people. Now look what a hand full of cowards brought down on their own people. You would think elders like uncle Salim have been around long enough to know what would happen if the whole world were to see the atrocity he masterminded, then carried out.
Word has it that there have been two hundred and fifty more honor killings in the Kurdistan region since then, but I guess this time they had the brains not to broadcast it to the world this time.
Was the simple idea of Du’a falling in love with a guy from a different sect really an affront to the yezidi god? A god resembling a peacock and is said to symolize a fallen angel? I really don’t care. Not when it’s used to justify what those yezidi demon men did to Du’a. Makes one want to use their day-glo-turkey-god for target practice. Or better yet, video tape someone taking a whiz on the yezidi day-glo-turkey-god, and put that on the damn net!
On another note, authorities in the Iraqi and Kurdish governments have paid off the Aswads forty million Iraqi dinars to keep quiet about the whole thing. More to the point, act like you agree with happened to your daughter, or you will be next!
Also, the authorities with the help of the US Army, have rounded up four of the nine thugs directly responsible for Du’a's murder. They are: Reyaz Kamal Omar, Zeyad Mahmmud Khdr, Aras Farid Salim, and Wahid Farid Salim. They have all been sentenced to death by hanging.
Seems it would have been so much easier if the cops who were there when it all went down put a stop to it then. And saved Du’a's life. And saved the yezidi culture from broiling under the harsh searing glare of the whole of humanity. Or does that make too much sense?
The five others directly responsible ran away with their tails between their legs. That includes Du’a's uncle salim, who dealt the final death blow with a cinder block. I guess they’ll spend the rest of their useless lives hiding in a cave like osama bin laden. Maybe they’ll have a few goats to keep them company until it’s their turn to face God for, ehh, what was that commandment they broke?
Something………………..no make others dead………no wait,………….death, bad to
cause………………uhhmm…………….hep me out here……maybe…………..aww yessss:
THOU
SHALT
NOT
FUCKING
KILL!!!!!!!
I would imagine that “Judge not and you will not be judged” could also apply here. Of course it does.
Remember what Jesus said “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” when a similar mob was about to stone to death an adulteress. Jesus was the only one who could have lobbed the first rock at the adulteress, but he didn’t. All of her accusers gradually slinked away. Jesus said to her “Woman, where are thine accusers, hath no man condemned thee?“
“No lord” She replied.
”Then neither do I condemn you. Go, and sin no more“. Jesus replied.
By modern standards, Jesus single handedly stopped an honor killing. That’s because Jesus is more into forgiveness. That’s the whole reason he came down here and died for us all in the first place.
The yezidi could learn a thing or two from Jesus. Like forgiveness instead of cruelty and lies. And maybe to care about the women who endure the pain of child birth and raise their children. The mothers, wives, and daughters love them and take care of them. The women who are the future of any culture.
How could the yezidi not see the true picture: The love of a good woman is the life blood of the human race. Young Du’a Khalil Aswad to a tee. And the millions of vibrant and loving women everywhere on earth.
I would imagine that if he could have, Du’a's boyfriend Muhannad might have come up with a beautiful eulogy for his beloved. As a dedication to those two, I came up with one. It is my intention here to honor the love they shared, if only for a fleeting moment in time. A tribute to young love. A tribute to every young couple out there. A tribute to every woman like Du’a.
May God reunite Muhannad and Du’a in heaven soon. And may Du’a's wedding day in heaven be more magnificent than in her wildest dreams as she and Muhannad are united forever in the presence of God, family, and thousands upon thousands of friends the world over. True love will always prevail.
BELOVED DU’A
This is for my beloved Du’a
Here but not here
Gone, but not gone
For that tiny fragment of time we shared
The time we sailed on together as one
The indescribable joy you always made real
The power of your love, so pure, so vast
A life-giving nectar in so many ways
The love that is you, your ocean of life
So powerful and true, so vast and pure
Hard to describe, how to define?
The soul of an Angel
Your soul, your spirit
So perfect, so Angelic
A well spring of wonder, of energy, of life
Now a new star in the heavens above
Now an Angel in God’s great kingdom
Here is a fact, set firmly in stone:
What you’ve become – This is you:
Sweet Angel Du’a, God’s finest creation
The epitome of everything good and pure
A real gift from God
An Angel of love
Here is one more very true definition of you
The life blood of the human race
Your perfect love
You, sweet Angel Du’a
The well source of life, this truly is you
Beloved Angel Du’a
God’s finest creation
A tribute to life, love, and hope
A blessing for all of the human race
God’s pride and joy
Child of God
Forever in my soul
Forever with God
Forever young
Forever on, life goes
Thanks to you, Angel Du’a
Someday soon, God will return
Then forever reunited
:,-) You and me :,-)
My beloved Angel Du’a and I
From Muhanned to Du’a
May God reunite them soon
To be continued on “The Distant Thunder, Part Three”
