A moonlight tale

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“seventy kinds of different dates were in Baghdad”

my grandma told me

“and shame that we left,” she added

“over there, they didn’t put antibiotics in our food

we didn’t eat cow meat and our Kuba rice dish was filled with lamb”

and even if my way to Baghdad Has been ruined

and although I don’t speak the language 

now I know that my life is a piece of a Darkened history

that sits on

a hook, a moonlight tale of my grandma.

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