Mourning
Dressed in black, but for soft crying, now and then, all is quiet in the women's mourning tent.
The imam' s voice can be heard from the men's tent, just a few meters away.
Dry figs and endless small cups of bitter coffee are handed out.
The mother clutches her dead son's picture to her chest.
Why?
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1 comment:
it is extremely sad - i have many friends who live in the thick of this neighbourhood and this is a little piece of their life as well..
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