iran

iran

A Story by May

i once dreamed about my grandmother, the mother of my father. Shes a simple thing, wearing only bright, homely colors. A smile dances across her face when my name is announced. This lady lives in a one room house connected to a smaller room with a hole in the ground that is known as a toilet. An old fridge blasted from the past sits in the corner with spoiled wines and once tangy fruit juices. She soaks me in with lovely brown eyes peering through cement thick glasses which are much bigger than her actual eyes, and much more tattered. She speaks in a rhythmic language i am familiar with but have never understood my whole life. I dont remember her fond memories of me, but she relives them now. I live in comfort while shes stuck in poverty. I may not know her but she knows me, and she loves me

© 2011 May


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Added on July 20, 2011
Last Updated on July 20, 2011

Author

May
May

Winterfell



About
I'm not super good at writing, but every once in a while i'll spit out something cute. more..

Writing
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A Poem by May


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A Poem by May