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child of the fertile crescent
from that first brilliant flash of light
and the high-pitched voices,
from the first breath of dry air,
cold against my naked skin,
the very soil i fell onto from my mother's womb
has never been mine;
but its richness and naïve generosity
bluntly stolen, torn from my bleeding hands
by those who occupy our land
to rape every growing thing
to harvest our ancient history
to build their armies
to keep the power
to control our soil.
until the day i leave this light,
these screams, the satisfying breath of air,
i will mourn the country i never had;
my tears watering its ever-giving soil.
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