The Moon

I rushed to meet the full moon

As I could finally see her face

A month of waiting could not be replaced

And as the moon turn around I knew

The rock looked much like you

My imaginary childhood friend

You survived this long

You were with me till the end

I wondered how your face was never changed

From Iraq to America

And somehow it did not feel strange

To befriend the moon

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strangerpaths

Poet, making sense of war, humanity, love and greed. Trying to find the magic in ordinary things. I am Zee

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