I would like to be a sparrow / flying round the / tree in the yard of your house / watching you / sitting on the wooden chair, / drinking coffee, / reading poems
Winter School Days in Kandahar
October 25, 2009 4 Comments
A Year
October 22, 2009 2 Comments
The Scent of Sweet Honey
October 20, 2009 9 Comments
Her name is Nelofar, and she is my cousin and my best friend. She had a love marriage, rare in Afghanistan. One day I asked her how much she loved her husband. Nelofar said, “I love him so much that I can feel him near me right now.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, because her husband was nowhere near her; in fact he was not in the country.
Dad
October 20, 2009 5 Comments
Afghanistan, a Dream
October 18, 2009 7 Comments
I was standing in front of the window in the small, dark living room, folding my arms against my chest, looking out at the drops of rain falling like the tears of a mother for her dead child, like a gift from the hell, like a curse from the devil. The dark, gloomy sky had a rhythm of pain, a rhythm of loneliness.
My Sister’s Golden Hair
October 18, 2009 23 Comments
(Ed’s note: This story has been written from a brother’s point of view, but is based on real events.)
We had a kind and lovely family. We were not so rich in money, but rich in love and kindness, in happiness and sympathy, more like friends than family members. My father was an engineer, I was one of three brothers and we had two sisters.
Soup of Eggs
October 15, 2009 7 Comments
Mom says she is not a good cook and I know she is honest!
Because she was always in her office and spent most of her life working, working, working, I didn’t learn anything from her cooking. So I grew myself in cooking.
Once when she was at the office as usual and I was at home alone at lunchtime, suddenly some guests came to our house.
The Burqa
October 15, 2009 6 Comments
Navy blue, long and baggy / Top and bottom with different designs of flowers / Hanging outside the shop along with other white and green ones / Swinging in the cold wind of Kabul winter.
Henna by Meena
October 6, 2009 3 Comments
The spicy scent of henna used to bring back memories of Eid, weddings, parties and all the happy occasions. Now, the only thing henna’s smell brings me is the image of my mother and me crouched in the far corner of the kitchen, crying. The smell of henna brings back anger and sorrow, a sense of helplessness and weakness.
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