Afghan Women's Writing Project
He sketched for me, one day,
On a piece of yellow paper.
It was a simple drawing,
I thought you my mate
My fellow traveler
That we would be together
Here on earth and in paradise
How perfectly they played,
so calm and courteous and disciplined,
people from all religions on the playing field.
I must cover my face until the day I die.
I get a headache.
I am waiting for the moment
When I hear your footsteps
I’ve been waiting a long time
the beauty of colors
imagine colors in sunshine.
The number of colors is uncountable—gifts.
I was on top of Pamir Mountain.
Wow! How comfortable, how lofty,
What a beautiful sight.
Never have I seen it in my life
I feel ashamed
when I sit at the dining table eating for more than an hour until I am full, but my country’s children from morning to dark night hunt for food in the dirty garbage
When I was a child, it was in my dream to grow into a young man who would go to school and be an educated person with a hobby and a good job. My wishes were to be happy, without sorrow, to live without hurting anyone.
On marketing day, when Fazela sits while selling trays of seedlings with her friends and relatives, they talk about their vegetable production and plan for the next season’s cultivation.
History is changed by the small actions of ordinary people. —Zahra A.
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