
No One Can Change His Mind
He is proud of Afghanistan
No one can change his mind
Even as the sky throws bullets
Strangely people still smile
He is proud of Afghanistan
No one can change his mind
Even as the sky throws bullets
Strangely people still smile
Mina M. spent her childhood in a small town in Iran. She graduated from high school with a diploma in natural sciences and was a student in Tehran when the Iranian government closed her school. She returned to Afghanistan in 2006 and is continuing her higher education.
The children of Kabul are the visible signs of poverty, but Afghanistan struggles with invisible poverty: the hidden poverty. My friend Hashim is part of the invisible poverty.
Gholam’s brother gave me the name of someone who told me where I could stay in a tent made of wood and plastic located near the port. The wood was rotten and the plastic smelled of urine.
Take the chance or leave it behind / Teeth on teeth, it is hard to breathe / Let a mirage take your hand / Stay on until the end, shaking your head
You cry, candle, without sound, / tell me your secret / while your heart melts / with the dance of your light— / a flame alive throughout the night.
Time gets old. I hear your voice behind the wall.
The wind was blowing; I could feel its pull. The wind, the blue sky, the sea, and sun—all accompanied me to Mytilene. My eyes followed the horizon but my mind was in another world. I couldn’t believe we had passed one of the most difficult parts of our journey or how I had jeopardized my friends and my life by tearing the boat up.
As I rowed and the sun began to rise, it looked as if the islands we were aiming for were all connected. I didn’t know what the others were thinking or if they noticed. I just prayed that I was taking them to Greece and not Turkey. The memory of finding places on a map with my friends as a boy flashed through my mind. I was so good at that game. How different, I thought, is a real situation.