Perhaps he'll strip away some of my father's deep sense of exile. Maybe he'll see iraq in him.
But that is not my iraq. My iraq. It's the air engulfing me and filling up my lungs and then reaching every cell of my body. It's the ground my feet stand on, be it rough or smooth. It's my ears being filled with iraqi words wherever I go.
Call me romantic if you will. Or tell me that I have a wrong notion of iraq or that I know nothing of how it really is there. I don't care.
Iraq isn't merely a country, it lives and grows in you. You breathe it in with every breath you take, you carry it in your heart and hold it in your arms wherever you go.
ReplyDeleteBelieve. As long as you love....Iraq will be waiting for you