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Meeting again after some years, two Middle Eastern mothers

 

are sitting in a cafe chatting over a

plate of tabouli and a pint of goat's milk.

 

The older of the mothers pulls a bag out of her purse and starts

flipping through photos and they start reminiscing.

 

'This is my oldest son, Mohammed. He would be 24 years old now.'

 

'Yes, I remember him as a baby' says the other mother cheerfully.

 

'He's a martyr now though', the first confides.

 

'Oh, so sad dear' says the other.

 

And this is my second son, Khalid. He would be 21 now'

 

'Oh, I remember him,' says the other happily, 'he had such curly

hair when he was born'. '

 

'He's a martyr too', says the first quietly.

 

'Oh, gracious me ...' says the other.

 

'And this is my third son. My baby. My beautiful Ahmed.

 

He would be 18,' she whispers.

 

'Yes' says the friend enthusiastically, 'I remember when he

first started school'

 

'He's a martyr also,' says the first, with tears in her eyes.

 

After a pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looks

wistfully at the photographs and says.....

 

'They blow up so fast, don't they?'

 

:lol: :lol:

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I just wish they'd Blow up with each other in Iraq

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