by Mohammad Zaki Zaki
When the young women were told
Of the Taliban’s new rule
Some started crying
Some shouted in anger
Cursed the Taliban
Some just said their last goodbyes
To their friends
Before walking away
They message me every day
Ask again and again to open the doors
But I…
By Shaaban Karamdokht
Translated by Asadullah Jafari “Pezhman”
In the form of your sojourn that flows to every bound
The sound of your blood is flowing in the bed of time
You are Hazara; you are the heir of this historical land
What happened to you? In your song, your cry is flowing
Thousands of times your heart poured out an inscription on the soil
Your tired voice is flowing to the stars
What pains are sitting on your heart and soul?
What wounds are visible, flowing in your mirror?
You are the proud Hazaras of the times
Although the pain is still running through your heart
The glory of your name will last forever
Your blood is flowing drop by drop
Stay with the homeland, with other Hazaras
The secret of patriotism flows in your voice.
by nematullah ahangosh
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
Writing by Afghan writers. Editor/Publisher: Nancy Antle; Editor: Pamela Hart
