I do believe nothing is not possible, perhaps
not possible means I am possible.
I do believe in how much I love you
and will, even though you have become
a faded flower.
Nothing’s left on you except
limp petals, dried leaves.
Your thorns remain sharp.
But I can still smell your sweet fragrance,
see your past blossoms.
I can still smell that you are full of life,
believe nothing is not possible.

I will bloom you again,
feed you with every drop of my blood,
water you with my tears,
help you become lovelier,
stronger, more colorful
than before.

I will cast love on you,
because, Afghanistan, my life means nothing
without you. I am your candle.
I will burn, cast light on you,
so others can see your beauty,
smell your perfume.
And if I die in this winter season,
I do believe after darkness will be brightness,
after night will be day,
after sorrow will be happiness,
after every hatred will be love,
after war will be peace.
I will build you again, Afghanistan,
with peace and education,
if it costs me my life.

By Farahnaz

Photo: Afghan workers pluck saffron flowers on a farm in Herat, Afghanistan. Around 2500 farmers, in eight provinces, are working on saffron farms for export mostly to India and some European countries. Agricultural produce programs, including saffron, are being offered to farmers as an alternative to the harvesting of poppies, used in the production of heroin. Majid Saeedi / Getty Images