Crossing the Border


My fragile talent blocks my way
in being a good lover
but makes me “a good poet,” they say

Let Freedom Visit You


I count my breath
eat more than a successful woman.
What does success mean?
What if I’m only meant for a boring man?

The Station at 7 a.m.


There was a tree; a bird sitting in its shadow
I played with my ring
Twisting it left then right around
My engagement finger, waiting there

Heart Break


When her heart rips apart
she walks off into a donkey skin.
She add wings to her shoulders
prepares to fly away

Hajar introduction

Hajar spent her childhood as an immigrant in Iran and her family returned to Afghanistan when she was eleven. She wants to be a filmmaker.



My indisposed body desires red wine
to pour into a head filled with memories of you.
It wants to burn a cigarette and watch
as such beauty strikes the darkness.



I gazed on the title of a book about someone
I had tried so hard to imitate.
I swallowed all the words
Sending them to remote corners of my brain.

Art of My Life


If I had my own life painted by an artist, I think I might choose Jackson Pollock.

The Rain


Some days ago, it was my cousin’s birthday, and I had to travel to my sister’s office, as we both had to go and buy cake.

Hadia introduction

Hadia has happy memories of growing up in Kabul in a family that encouraged her education. She is a university student, plays sports, and hopes to work in foreign affairs.