Pakistan International Peace & Human Rights Organization
Nindo Shaher District Badin Sindh Pakistan
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HOW TO WRITE A POEM
When your world is burning,
Put some of the ashes in a dish,
Weep until your tears turn them into paste,
Stir,
Find a scrape of paper,
Or cloth, or wood,
Dip a pen, stick, your finger,
in the ink,
Write what you must,
Try to sing your words,
And listen to what others,
Are singing,
In the dark,
Be like the nightangale,
Her breast pierced by a throne,
She could not sing,
Were she not filled with love,
SOMETHING'S MISSING
Something's missing,
From this world.
It's not war,
It's not hate,
It's not need,
And there's certainly an over abundance of greed.
Something's missing,
From this world,
It's not hunger,
It's not fear,
It's not what we cherish as dear,
But something's missing.
The taste of life,
Its loves,
Its labors.
A little spice,
And things so nice,
Yet, something's missing.
Yes there's lots of good,
And people doing what they should,
But, something's missing.
Everyone's not doing what they could!
A POEM FOR AFGHAN WOMEN
I stand by your ear unseen,
Before the flogging, they buried me to my waist
in mud,
One hundred times and one, they beat me with
a cane,
Because I was wearing a burqa,
the mullah was spared the sight of my blood,
When my family took me home, I was
unconscious,
They were forbidden to seek treatment,
When I died the next morning, no one was
surprised,
It was three days after my 18th birthday.
I stand by your ear unseen.
When I was 14 I wanted to be a teacher,
remember
laughing with my friends, on the way home
from school,
I remember writing poems, about the future,
daydreaming at the window into velvet sky,
Impossible, then, to believe what would come,
after the Taliban took our town.
I stand by your ear unseen,
When I was 15 they came.
The wide world
choked shut,
Collapsed to a point of fear, hunger. Constant,
My sisters and I ate what brothers left. Little,
They
could leave the house for classes, for work,
My mother�s office job was taken away,
When my uncle would accompany her,
she took her turn wearing a neighborhood burqa,
so she could look for food. She sold our books.
I stand by your ear unseen,
Three years. My youngest sister sickened,
My father carried her to the hospital but,
they told him to throw her away,
She died at
the door,
In her name,
I started a secret school,
To read
to write,
five little girls and I risked our lives,
I would do it again. It was a way for ghosts,
to have hands and voices for awhile.
I stand by your ear unseen,
When another decree was issued,
that houses
with women,
have all windows painted black, we had no funds,
My father was gone, forced into the militia,
My mother had nothing left to sell,
They marched in to bully us,
found the hidden school slates behind my bed,
Hauled to the mullah, I told nothing,
He shut the door and raped me.
I stand by your ear unseen,
Famine and depression make periods scant,
I didn�t know about the baby at first,
My aunt had the right herb, in a hidden pot on
her roof,
She stayed while my baby bled out,
A new decree, forbidden to make sound when
we walk,
caught her when she left,
She didn�t have shoes
that were silent,
They beat her on the street, until her
accompanying son,
in his panic tried to shield her
by sacrificing me,
The mullah learned
everything.
I stand by your ear unseen,
He announced my offense of having an abortion,
which proved I was promiscuous,
My crimes cloaked his and no one,
could do anything but pray I might survive,
That prayer was not mine. I was ready to depart,
I do not ask for personal mourning,
Twelve
million living,
women and girls require your outrage,
Lift your veil! Open your ear.
WHEN I COULDN'T BREATH (AFGHAN WOMEN)
When I couldn�t breathe
when I lifted a corner of the heavy burqa
when I exposed my mouth and nose desperate
to gulp air,
they beat me unconscious
When they beat us again with whips and metal
cables
while we waited in the hospital
when the sick babies in their mothers� arms fell
on the floor,
my will to live began to tremble.
In the summer of 96 we laughed. I can�t
remember the sound.
Before that September when the Taliban came
we were no different than you
Now we are the ghosts of Afghanistan
The women and the girls of a whole country
under house arrest.
For trying to go to work, my sister was beaten
For leaving her home alone, my neighbor was
tortured
For showing her ankle as she rode behind her
husband on a bike
my girlfriend was shot dead on the street.
My children are shrinking before my eyes but
I am banned from receiving food from the
World Food Programme.
In the orphanage are girls who,
have never seen the sun or trees
My sons are being taught,
a man should beat a female who is seen,
even through the windows of a home or a bus.
I view the world through a patch of mesh
in a voluminous tent that pulls me to stooping
The garment gates me, takes mobility and voice
When the burqa descends over my tender head
I am invisible, a living woman who can�t be
seen or heard
My woman�s will to live
can strengthen only,
on the thread that connects me to you.
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