by Mahtab Sahel
How much do I cry for my homelessness?
Grief over the destruction of my beautiful homeland
When I wash, my tears turn into Amus.
The blood flowed from my Baba’s shoulder.
Which mirror should I wipe with my tears?
The hot foreheads of Nilofer and Afray doctors!
My whole body and soul are burning
What is the cure for me that my homeland is burning?
They stoned each of my pupils
The bombs shattered my skull
They have attacked me like hungry dogs
They have presented an atan on my bloody carpet
Unaware that this desert has lovers
Behind each hill, the “Khaleq” has two hundred caravans
That such a place should not be left to orphans
Do not own the house except for the Buddha’s daughter my country!
Your chest is the window of hope
The sun is the only guardian of your day and night
The sky is full of sparrows and doves
Your plain is full of fragrant flowers