Afghan Women's Writing Project
My speech is written
by my pen on white paper.
Years ago I walked under the warm, hot sun of summer to face the challenges of a newly divorced woman with a young son.
Real Islam says you should have an attitude of justice. But in Afghanistan I see injustice.
It was autumn, but the trees bloomed and people heard on the radio that there would be a new government.
I have been sentenced
in family court for the crime
of being a girl—
No education, No play, No laughing,
Each time the ball flew on the tournament field
Memories of war and misery were destroyed
The ball became a dove of peace
The only reason he wanted me was for getting pregnant and putting out children. That was all I was important for.
Which way do you seek when there is no way?
On which un-returnable past have you turned your back?
What hopes and dreams are you gazing at and seeking
behind your burqa’s small window?
I see the anger of a moment in this child,
Her eyes have cried in so many ways.
The bottom of our hearts—roots that dig deeply into earth
hold fast, while in the fall, we throw our problems—
autumn leaves of yellow.
History is changed by the small actions of ordinary people. —Zahra A.
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