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Migration Patterns The RAF in Sharjah gave us work before the war. I filled the planes with fuel and sometimes got a foreign smile as perk on top of one and a half rupees, the rule for workers on the base. You couldn’t shirk. I needed more. By 1948 costs were high and work was always scant. So I took a job abroad in Al Kuwait, when Al Naqba blew from the Levant: co-workers, exiles now without a state. We drilled so deep for oil, we took a chance. My hand was badly crushed by the machine; I lost a thumb and finger. Circumstance makes Fate, the future is maktoub, unseen, I laboured fifteen years with men and ants.

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Profile for Conversation Poetry

CPQ Summer 2012  

CPQ Summer 2012

CPQ Summer 2012  

CPQ Summer 2012

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