In pakistan brothers just dnt understand , shits sweet on the other side of every green grass i told god id let him take my life for that of everyone else so its only fair i demand my khyber pass where feens could catch frezze of my knee cap Mr. Afridi what do you think about that? war on terror more like war on whatever, for the cream and the cheader we get it in any weather. How you going to go against a cause that lives in caves, work in insnae conditions, have no tongues, and they make guns with their bare hands.
Its easy to judge but its hard to see once u had envy toward me but u dnt know ive reached a lowest point like a hiv and youre still thinking do her but ive reached my lowest point like a colombian street kid living in a sewer, and you think its okay like that.
iam not strong because iam not weak iam strong becasue i can feel into the abyss live your dash
Afghanistan - fourth time lucky !?
Every day on the news.
(Just before the funny bit)
Soldiers names are scrawled on the grim roll call
Yet in centuries past
Every day in the paper.
Strangely familiar names were recalled.
When will we learn history' s lesson
and stop seeing young lives.
Rubbed out by remote control.
How can we carry on up the Khyber pass.
Fight again, Warriors who live for war.
To killing, then hiding, then killing anew.
Why can’t we learn
The Russian’s lesson
And stop banging our heads on the wall !
Hope yes we can: a target in the vision of the horizon
Offering here new possibility to embrace omnipotency
People are the motive force of truth, gate to halcyon
Emanations of eternity - the eagle exploits a new history
Yearning unshackled its wings o'er citadel in white disarray
Empowered by the fresh winds of morning, fetters broken
Settle me on a dream to soar again trusting a better haven
Wealth is the magic of ambition, keeling against despair
Etched in the certainty we shall overcome dismantling fear
Constitutional interpretations narrow as Khyber pass, belief
Anchored in alters of liberty, and prosperity through equality
Natured and nurtured us in the new dawn naked of old grief.
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.
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