by nematullah ahangosh

An Afghan Refugee Camp Summer 2020

most stories end up beautiful

only some end so awful

like when the bullets,

pregnant as almonds,

fast as fear

pierce like glass

the skins on streets of Kabul

beautiful stories?

i don’t even know what that is

you mean flowers of war?

oh? i know those!

they are survivors

like sheep grazing on the fields of others

with trembling legs

fearing the field owners will arrive

and chase them like wolves



By Nematullah Ahangosh

Cemetery in Kabul, Afghanistan

Our every street,
Our every porch,
Our every balcony,
Our very hearts bleed,
Your every street,
Your every porch,
Your every balcony,
Your very hearts don’t beat.

Your solidarity,
And our society are alien,
While you forget,
We don’t forget
the monster we hate,
which is the war ahead.
Until we forget
we realize everyone is dead
including your solidarity,
which is absent
which is late.