How will it end, the story of two?
How will it unfold, and begin anew? My friend Mustafa once held me near: I was his sister, his friend and his dear. He said 'you and I are different, in more ways than none. Where you can walk -- I have to run Where you can drive -- I wait in line And where you roam free -- I am confined. Yes, you and I are different, in more ways than none, Although I'd much prefer, to think of us as 'one' You go to sleep at night And I -- stand in fear And this uneven war continues, year after year. While you go to school, and have your career I stay behind -- locked away in here. I am not asking for pity, Nor do I need your understanding. I just ask that for a moment -- You'll try to be where I am standing.' Mustafa cried, and shook my hand And there we were together, sharing our land. I do not know how this story will end. But with my friend Mustafah -- I will stand. Like olive trees we'll rise together, Tall and free and trying to be better. Better than the sum of our ancestry We'll change the journey of our history We'll make this story of two -- our story of one And the cycle of hate will lastly be DONE. ***
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AuthorIn April 2020, while experiencing her first ever global pandemic, Tamar Pelzig pledged to write something every day, even if it's only a word, so she welcomed to the world a daily blog to keep her creative writing wheels rolling. Categories
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Photos used under Creative Commons from chocolatedazzles, Jocelyn777 Love Europe, ONE-MILLION