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Kabul
Of something that is like the wind,
Of something that is like the sea,
Of something that is like the moon,
Of something that is like bread,
of the thirst of a poem sad and alive
I must write.
The crash of thousands explosions
- throughout the day,
through the night -
Of the outstretched hand of thousands of beggars
in the wounded streets
of this new city -
I must write.
Of the impatient laments of the rain
Of the death of nature,
Of the death of joy,
Of drinking throughout the night
Of the dark cuts of sadness,
The machine guns, the bombs and the blood,
I must write.
So many wind,
burnt faces by the sun,
So many men dishonoured, desperate
Who come home with bundles of hunger,
With a burden of scars,
Of something which is like tears,
Of something which is like blood,
Of something which is like Kabul
I must write. -
This is great to read - it's so good to know that there are Afghanis opposed to Islamic fundamentalism, and their leader is a man of literature - surely it is their own culture that can help them here.
I like the poem, the spirit I see behind the pain.

cvillelisa
Aug 23 8:01 PM
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