A poem by Sitara

It is not my home, not your home
It is the land of love
Don’t build walls
Don’t talk to me about borders
and severing ties

I am not a terrorist
My language is love
My thought is humanity
I come to firmly plant the friendship root
I come to cultivate the confidence trees

I am poor
Poverty handcuffed me
But I still have hope
I come dragging the hand of friendship
I do not want to cross swords
Don’t break me

Let’s change the world’s shape
Create a planet without force and domination
Where our slogans are for coexistence
Our message being assistance

Though I come from the land of war
Suicide is not my identity
Bombs are not made by me

You have labeled me and jeered my proud history
Each page of this history explains a love story
Every letter of my history presents harmony

I come to live in peace
I loathe extremism and racism
I come with the open arms of humanity
I come hoping to rid the name of our common enemy
From every page of my history

Writing by Afghan writers. Editor/Publisher: Nancy Antle; Editor: Pamela Hart

Writing by Afghan writers. Editor/Publisher: Nancy Antle; Editor: Pamela Hart