We actually stuck our thumbs out in Jordan
and our middle fingers to the west.
Eastward
was always symbolic to my teacher.
We lovingly danced thru Arabia,
smoked Shisha, and broke bread with the Christians.
We were it all, we did it all.
When we go back, we'll never fight
our brothers.
Father Abraham wouldn't appreciate that.
Let's be Brothers again
best friends
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem