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Hurt

To my brother Najeeb

Whenever I return to the playground of the past
peering into its deceptive spaces
I see your shirt, but not you
your smile, but not you
your eyes, but not myself
I meet, in what I find of you, the longed-for twilight
of when we were together
on the field of our dreams

and the warm blanket of my mother's stories, embroidered with songs.
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Tuesday, October 14, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: brother
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