Afghan Women's Writing Project
Nine photos taken by Roya in Kabul.
I asked my soul last night,
“What happens to you if you don’t write?”
My soul was in deep thought…
There’s my childhood with my dolls
And the small truck I pulled on the floor
The smell of food coming from the kitchen
I would have the world of luck
in my foolish pockets.
You are my golden sky after the storm
And my strength.
You are unique in this world.
As we went further I was amazed at the big rocks in the river, and the river hugging the mountain. We found a small park with some tall trees next to the river. In their shadow we sat on the lawn. The sound of the water was exactly like a love song.
You left, and my eyes followed you.
All of my body had eyes to look at you
And all of my cells were hands to hug you.
When I see my childhood clothes I remember my sunburned face and the pain of my nose when I washed it with warm water.
I want to have my poetry book / In the front seat of the car / And wear glasses that will let / Me see all men / Changed to women. / I don’t care who says what.
I can’t tolerate the hot weather at all. I hate it! I don’t understand what people say in the hot weather, and I can’t talk. If you want to talk to me, make a date in the winter. I am not to blame.
History is changed by the small actions of ordinary people. —Zahra A.
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