I, the oldest child of my mother, had taken on the responsibility to work and provide food, since my brothers and sisters were too young. We finished the days with problems and passed the nights with dread.

No one had ever celebrated my birthday, not in my home or at my other school. So two weeks later, on the day of my birthday, I did not even think of it. As usual, I walked alone to school. I remember that particular day, it was very hot. As I did every other day, I wore a simple uniform of a black dress with white scarf. The black color of my dress drew the sun into me. I sweated as I made my way to school.

Afghan women have wings for flying. Afghan women want to be free like other birds that fly into the blue sky.

But ancient cultures and old thoughts have clipped their wings and, like birds alone in cages, they remain looking out, waiting to fly to the highest point in the sky.

Flowers remind me of my childhood / The memorable days of spring / When nature becomes alive and wears another dress

I am a daughter who has witnessed sixteen springs and the nests / Of beautiful swallows in those winters. / In the spring, all beauty and blessings rain onto the earth. / Like in my father and mother’s house where it rained the blessing of God.