The old version of my mother

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The Old Version of My Mother by Hafs Al-Balushi... Her old version and her empty wardrobe are the closed page that many seek... the one she turned a blind eye to... the one that never went beyond the reach of our hearing and sight... the one our desires dance to in timeless melodies... for there is no key here to guide us to what lies beyond the wrinkles scattered on her palms and the stories forcibly torn from that heart without her knowledge... and this is the most important detail about her: that she doesn't know... and the closed page that will never open again except here