Best Afghan Poems
I want to wear a djellabas.
Blackness engulfing me in its tentlike refuge
veiled in gauze.
Or a burkha of blue with a screen
over my face to hide
my eyes.
I want to wear rope sandals
down a dusty Afghan road on
the warmest of days
with the wind whistling
through the Khyber Pass.
I want to know the language,
taste the food,
gaze at the bearded men I pass
who will not know
I am looking at them.
They are handsome and brave in Kabul.
I want to hear the children
reciting the Koran
in their Pushtu cadence
and play upon a tabir
with a beat of
peace.
The policy of hate and date,
You may not like but it’s the truth,
The bitter truth mate!
Was it a lone wolf terror or was it a coordinated fight?
Who cares since it targeted souls
Despised by night.
But you are no God to legislate and
Decide on fate
An act that made an end,
To the destiny of a foe and a friend...
With no reason,
In a season of hate and revenge?
In Orlando like in Kabul,
A score of lives fell like flies,
With no respect to the being and soul,
Not to dare to compare the two,
You lunatic! You fool!
In Orlando like in Kabul, human tokens
From all sort of life dropped and stopped
Thinking, stopped moving and stopped breathing,
For some sick and dick, this was cool????
For others, this was a life crime!
But the difference, is that in Orlando unlike in Kabul,
Media and support were promptly presented and shoulders were
Provided to lean and cry upon,
But in Kabul you are on your own but not alone,
Blood called blood and this is a twin evil
To face and confront,
I know that all of us are divided and different,
I know for sure that our shaky unity in diversity is now compromised,
But human life is worth than principles of freedom and democracy if any
For sure God created Adam and eve,
Nay Adam and Steve,
But who cares now in this mega mall of globalised world
And as the oriental dictum goes, each sheep is hanged by its leg
And on its own,
And now you have all your time to grief cry and moan,
With your clan and tribe and even on your own,
Your acts reflect your thought,
Or maybe your act translates you hate,
Reflects you vision, your own vision,
That is your mission,
Terror calls terror and an eye for an eye is still on,
Reflecting an old Judaeo-Christian, then a Muslim law,
To celebrate hate at dawn
It’s your shared [Onus!]
Your shared fault,
And now you are harvesting together,
It’s now you shared a bonus,
Some of you still on the divine ship
Some of you still worshiping in deep,
You name Torah, Psalms, Bible and the Quran,
But some of you are still faithful to the [Cronus!]
A poem by John Nesbitt © 22.11.2013
I was eighteen years old and wanting to fight
I found what I looked for, in bars late at night
I took on the big guys, the small ones as well
They were all tough, as far as I could tell
-
As a jobless young man, proud of my country
I joined up with the army and trained how not to be
They told me I’d fight to keep us all free
So that we’d never have to bend the knee
They trained me in weapons, unarmed combat too
The use of explosives and what they could do
And how to take cover behind rocks and trees
They taught me to find bombs and those I E D’s
-
So step up to the plate boys, start waving the flag
We’ll be all draped with medals when it’s all in the bag
Think of the glory, this conflict will bring
A few months away, then we can all sing
-
On my very first mission, I was told to unwind
I took lead position, when searching for mines
The blast threw me up twenty feet in the air
I couldn’t feel my feet for they were no longer there
My right arm was shattered my left fingers gone
I once had two ears but now only one
I thought I was dying, I couldn’t hear a thing
I wasn’t thinking of the medals or being dressed up with bling
-
Now all I can do is sit here on the floor
and wonder what it all had been for
my comrades call around from time to time
I can see their discomfort when they’re thinking of mine
They wouldn’t trade places, no matter what for
They each have their memories, of that terrible war
My fighting days over, no more blood and guts
So I’ll settle right down in my terrible rut
-
I stepped up to the plate boys and I waved the flag
But I’m not draped in medals and it’s not in the bag
I thought of the glory the conflict would bring
No legs, no fingers and in no mood to sing
-
Things soon will be over in Afghanistan
Talks are on-going with the Taliban
We struggled against them for thirteen hard years
But all we produced was billions of tears
Fathers lost sons and Mothers lost child
business got rich, there were deals on the side
Where’s the next country they’ll start a new war
Persia?
Korea?
Let’s hope….. it’s…. not ….yours
She was born in a upper middle class family
Laila was her name given by her father
Her father had four wives accordingly,
She was not welcomed there.
She was only a girl in that big house
Rest of them were her brothers
She had to stay inside like a tiny mouse
She was allowed to study a few letters.
Liala had a high ambistions for study
When she became fifteen
A show maker who was fourty already
Wanted to get married a girl under eighteen.
When Laila heard that news
She was collapsed from the sky
Because she had different views
She started to cry.
But her sound could never reach to her father
He was completely silent,
There was no one to support her
She lost her mother who was a serious patient
After a few days she was got married
She left her father's house forever
She was determined,
She would never come back here.
After couple of months she became pregnant,
Her husband was expecting it would be a boy
For having a boy her husband was arrogant,
But it was dead before touching the toy.
Three more times the same thing repeated,
Her husband told that it was all Lailas fault
She could't say anything but cried,
She suffered a lot before being an adult.
Daisy-flux
Pashtun kickboxing
Blank stares
Cut-off
Free life
Classy travel
Super kamarati
The Afghan’s a dog groomer’s joy
The definitive Lord Fauntleroy
But with all that coiffure
One is never quite sure
If the “she” is a girl or a boy
I’ve not been to Afghanistan
Fred has
He’s seen the summer dust
He’s breathed the summer dust
He’s felt the winter snow
He’s walked the fields
where those other poppies grow
Fred’s eyes have measured the mountain heights
that divide the valleys – that divide the fights
that divide the people of that land
His ears have heard these divided people crying
He has smelt the smells of the dead and dying
And the cries of soldiers – of our land – hurt
By roadside bombs – hidden in the dirt
Tell me Fred
All the dead
Are they a price
oh such an evil price – that must be paid
for people in that land – to be no more afraid
to live their lives free of tyrannical yoke?
We can’t hope to understand – we lucky folk
(Singer/songwriter Fred (Iain) Smith known as “The Singing Diplomat” spent more than a government official living with Australian soldiers in Afghanistan)
Cries of agony
Desert land
No-person zone
No man’s land
No man can control the dusk and sand
Tanks squashing the houses
No hope
No hospitals
No food
No life
Just battle
Guns
The bullet
Evil deadly bullet
Armies formalise
To take over the no man’s land
None survive
Because the ones who live in the desert
Aren’t men
They are heroes
A consequence of war
Twisted surface
Twisted desert
No person’s imaginable fate
The sky turns
A church bell rings
Dead bodies surround the floor
Blood sweeps the houses
Fire kills the innocent men, women and children
Teenagers fight to defend their country
The evil desert
The beast of war
The girl of a thousand voices
The girl of green eyes
The girl making her dreams happen
The life of joy
Cooks at her every need
Life of opportunity
No more destruction
No more fighting
No more issues for women in the homeland
All her dreams come true
All her brothers love her dearly
Happy Joy
For the Afghan Princess
Poisonous laburnum hang downwards,
These dusty streets,
Hot as herbs and spices,
Touching deep buttery Panjshir Valley,
The Great Highland Bagpipes.
Sweaty, I will tell you,
About hegira-state,
Our rugged landscape,
Our legendary generosity,
The children of Afghan.
Dad, Valley of the Five Lions?
The legend of five spiritual guardians?
Spraying spitfire in their tanks
Killing the children
No difference between Vietnam
Prejudice ways
Hear this
The man who is anti-killer
Obama invades Libya
Afghan Killers
Give them some food
Not Ak’s
Bitter beheading in Iraq
Afghan Killers
Hear this rhyme
The rhyme of justice
The rhyme of human rights
The rhyme that will feed every innocent child
Who are we to judge?
Killing and supporting a justless cause
Later sending 20 pounds of aid to the destruction of war
Afghan Killers
Do we really want a police state?
Hear this rhyme
The rhyme of Justice
Living in fancy houses
Saying you will aid
All you do is make false promises
To better your life style
Who are we to judge?
We judge the evil and hitlertarians in the distant world
When they are closer than we think
AFGHAN KILLERS!
Religion was the juxtaposition
the central point of our vision
the direction the difference
always destined for distance
Now I see and hear humans
emotions, and how I use them,
they were gifted our given,
that now after 20 years isn't
And I feel our united core
a vision to build us from all war,
what you lost now, we'll give you more
Afghan born dreamers, dream the way of us all!!
And America, if you are global,
every choice is for the local,
build their nation, roads, homes, SAME FOR ALL!!
freedom, each pocket,
protected, enforce it.
they are no stereotype, not an alien,
but our race, humans we humanize
showing love, emotions, fair giving and take,
seek together, for the unknown, as the next unknown awaits.
That failure belongs with American scores,
being hopeful, then it's woeful, the power is false,
the plan, your politics, corrupt funds, you failed in it all,
you left after learning for twenty years you were fooled
The Great American Military Might Be,
Gone if the fight and thought line brightly
afghan hound dogs are
the oldest dog species and
fast than a racehorse
2019 September 17
wiseacres worked out
wishy-washy withdrawals
worth the worst wording
Meryl Streep laments that a squirrel
More rights flaunts, cats more freedom unfurl,
Bulbuls sing with broad choice,
But where’s Afghan girl’s voice?
If women in Kabul
Quelled are under male rule,
Oh, what to marvel on world morale?
___________________________
Happenings |31.09.2024|women, freedom
Poet’s note: Women’s freedom has gone from bad to Worse in Taliban ruled Afghanistan. Yet, if all nations under UNO so wish, this situation can improve. But other than making some noise, little is being done.