LAMEA ABBAS AMARA
*O my memories of Amara,
I hear the rockets destroying my memories.
Amara, where many rivers branch out from the Tigris.
There my life began.
In summer the sound of a single mournful flute wafts
over the sleepless rooftops.
My beloved Amara,
The home of my grandfather,
The alley of my school,
My daily walks on the banks of al-Kahla,
Even the songs have been silenced, not spared from the killing.
What hurts more is that I must pay the price of every bomb
which fell on my people.
Questia, a part of Gale, Cengage Learning. www.questia.com
Publication information: Book title: Food for Our Grandmothers:Writings by Arab-American and Arab-Canadian Feminists. Contributors: Joanna Kadi - Editor. Publisher: South End Press. Place of publication: Boston. Publication year: 1994. Page number: 113.
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