Men lash out at entertainment programs on TV channels and at women singers. But they themselves do buggery and bring young boys to dance at their wedding parties.
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
Calling themselves patrons of Islam
They were men
Mark them forever as traitors
The difference between Afghan police and the brutal Taliban is little but their uniform.
The winter came with
singing and dancing
bringing the message of peace
Gaza sinks in blood, but the world community is glad.
Arab leaders keep silent—slaves of the West.
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.