Editor’s note: This poem was inspired by events that happened to a friend of our writer.

I was here:
when you went to bring me food,
when you left home with your white sandals,
when they killed you only because of your sandals.
In this dark room, I am thinking why I am still here?
Why can I not go to the street and play with my brothers?
Why every time I ride a bicycle secretly, I fall down because of my long dress?
Why must I wash my brothers’ clothes while they go to school?
Why does my father ask me to hide myself, my body,
but calls my brothers lions and their bodies golden?

But once, I was happy.
I am a golden bird, who wants a chance to fly for my dear mom.
I was an angel for her when I was in her arms.
When I saw the worry in her eyes I asked myself why?
They took my dear mom from me
And now I can’t look in her eyes and see myself.
Without you where should I go to sit near someone?
Who will call me again “my dear” and clean my tears?

Still, I am here in this dark room
But I promise you, my dear mom, I will not be in this darkness anymore.
I won’t let them take a mother from her daughter.
We are not letting them any more.

By Masooma