I dream of sand.
I found it years after the war
in my socks or pants or boots and
it remained with me.
My washer is no longer filled
with it and my clothes no longer
abrade my skin but yet I still
dream of sand.
I have ceased to dream of bullets
and blood. I dream now of the
glimmer of hope on a weather-
beaten face. I dream of strength
and courage.
These are not dreams of brave
"American" soldiers doing their
duty, but rather dreams of brave
Arabs making the best of a life
which has seen oppression from
tyrants both foreign and domestic.
I dream foolishly.
I dream that our differences can
be overcome but in life I am
repeatedly shown that they cannot.
I dream.
I dream and hope that tomorrow
I do not wake