Featured Image: Alizeh Ahmad
We will win.
We will win. We will win. We will win.
“It is in our nature, in our blood”
Sticks and stones will break my bones
When stones are beaten into the skulls of children for 40 years.
When sticks are stabbed into the sockets of men, women, and children.
Your arms must be so tired of being cramped in the offensive
Your voice must be so coarse from screams for help
Your hearts so weary from false promises.
Within the graveyard lies a people
Who want to close their eyes and listen to Ahmad Zahir.
Bearing the burden of the world does not allow for idle listening.
To the world they are undeserving.
Within the graveyard there have been attempts to create light
The delectable dishes, the melodious music, the gracious gatherings
A tracing of lyricists, poets, and artists that stretches as far as the milky way
Which they reflect about in their epics.
Overtime poppies will grow in the graveyard
Do poppies grow in with blood?
Do poppies grow in soil made of bone dust?
But I hope — maybe — tulips will grow
What’s in a win? What’s in a win? What’s in a win?
The taste of victory lies bitters on the lips of Afghans.
The remedy to forever wars is to seek solace in a win
Because what is left when sober is more paralyzing.
The graveyard of empires is a vacuum
Whose light is ignored
With yells unanswered
With souls forgotten.
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