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I remember arches like this at my grandma's old lane
my city so full of history war torn and in tears...

but they called her the devestator.. though she has been devestated much.. each wall, each city street, each corner spoke of history.. you can feel yourself amidst a battle scene ... or alone in dimly torched mosque in the night to pray

yes I walked her street, and of her citadel wrote a thousand prose

holding the hands of my grandmother or aunt, between its archways I ran chasing the sun.. her name rolls of my tongue like a beautiful ballade
my mother country will probably one day hold me in her deep.. as I now hold her in mine.. but no her history isn't my fondest memory nor are her old provinces and streets.. rather sleeping at my grandma's old house in Ramadan.. I wish I can re-live just one day.. living on memories is almost too much to bear seeing how many of them passed on.. nonetheless --I visit them still in my mind from time to time and especially during Ramadan.. we'd be scattered about the huge house me and my million cousins, aunts and uncles.. the grand room had six french style windows on each wall... the 5th window was my favorite.. there was a crooked nail there I used to always put my finger on as if to console it for its asymmetry.. much happened there, from soccer matches, to mothers yelling at their kids, to the cactus fruit man peeling away as we lowered our plates to him in banana leaf baskets along with 10 or 20 piasters...
but it was there too in the wee hours of the night that the 'mos7rati' (night caller) came about drumming... waking people by their first names-- Ms lila , Usama effendi wake up oh you who are sleeping and praise your lord, and with it the old lane would again come alive.. It is probably a pastime that is no longer practised?
I don't know... my uncle has died since, and so did my sweet aunt, my grandmother too, and her niece aunt kawthar and her son nabeel .. long gone is the old house, its old walls probably in some reckless abandon.. but not from my memory...
Anyhow would love to hear your stories too of your old country and your fondest memory of Ramadan..

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