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Iraqi Sister
Susan Sowerby
Trapped in a war of desolation
My parched heart craves
A flower for your grave
In this land, once ancient Syria
Where Eagle triumphs over dove
Where oil is deemed greater than love
Can a simple flower grow?
Tiny hand beneath the rubble
Cold to my clasp,
Means nothing to those who ordered the blast
From far away towers of power
Throughout the ages, little changes
Rachel weeps; Herod rages
And the blood of the innocents
Drips down the pages
Beneath my bhurka
I will hide the cradle of life
A woman’s tender body
The brutish eyes of war
Shall not defile
Hidden, sacred, beauty
And I will search this wilderness
This minefield once my home
If I find one flower
One flower alone
I shall have found -
Hope
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