Short poem 10.


For the Iraqi Kurdish village of Kulajo

I remember you.

You were my mother, father,

sister, brother, uncle, aunt.

Though our last names never met,

we were sewn like thread at the seams

by the weddings, harvests, births and burials

our households shared.

And while planes and tanks spat fire on our heads,

while guns made us wandering souls,

the bond of our communal blood helped us to endure.


P.S. I would like to make an appeal to all followers and readers of this blog to please consider getting involved in the fundraising effort I’m doing to help pay for my college tuition. I am trying to raise $15 000. Any donation would be greatly appreciated. Just follow the link below. God bless!


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