I fear that the real leaders in the murder of Farkhunda will never be tried.
Hands make my frigid winter warm,
change my dry desert to sweet-scented roses
light the dark sky till it’s full of star shine,
and then, write me a song of love
My heart breaks; my eyes weep; my body is burned out for our Afghan girls who are losing their lives in the fight for girls’ rights in Afghanistan.
I apologize not because I am a weak person,
or because I am shy,
or powerless, or immature, or poor.
By declaring jihad against the media, women will continue to be repressed, but without the world knowing.
People always argue that Islam says a man can marry four wives, but they don’t know circumstances under which God gave this permission.
History is changed by the small actions of ordinary people. —Zahra A.
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