Woven Dreams and Realities
We are trapped in a life we never wanted,
Nurturing thoughts that have no existence beyond our minds,
We write our dreams upon white paper,
And paint them black within our minds,
Because we know these dreams will never become reality,
We know there is no future waiting for us,
For us,
Who walk across a narrow bridge,
Never knowing whether we will reach the end
Or fall before we get there.
What if life exists, but it is not the life we want?
What if death exists, but life does not?
What if life remains, but dreams come to an end?
What if dreams remain, but life does not?
Reality has become intertwined with dreams,
They are inseparable.
Thoughts were silenced,
Lips were stitched shut,
Bodies were woven together with threads,
Eyes were covered,
The ironbeats of the heart came to a halt,
Breaths were cut short,
Yet they still say:
"Stay alive!"
Do not be afraid!
We are alive,
We have only stopped moving for a while,
We are walking, little by little,
Across black and salted soil,
Soil that feels unfamiliar,
Soil whose scent no longer belongs to us,
We are telling you
About black, red, and green.
Black:
Dreams woven upon white paper.
Red:
Our love for you,
And the walls marked with warnings of danger.
And finally, Green,
Your living and radiant face.
We will always remember you in green,
Among green trees
And dew-covered leaves.
We are writing your story,
Of your pain,
Your love,
Your hatred,
And your dark walls.
We know that now
You are nothing more than ruins,
Yet to us,
You are dearer than Ancient Rome.
I never truly saw you,
I only saw a small part of you,
That same small part
Filled with your endless suffering.
We,
What remains of us,
Stayed here for you.
If only you had stayed for us!
If only you had been just
And listened to the truth!
To the voices of children wandering the streets,
To the songs of birds forced to migrate,
To the voices of mothers...
If only you had listened!
If only,
Just once,
You had spoken to me!
You and I are here,
Why do you not call my name?
We are here,
In a forgotten corner.
Perhaps one day
You will remember us,
But on that day,
You will no longer be able to speak,
You will no longer be able to say a word,
Because on that day,
You will come only with flowers,
With water,
And with the drops of your tears.
This article is part of the HerVoice initiative, published by NSHSS in partnership with EmpowerHer, an NSHSS student partner organization. EmpowerHer supports Afghan girls and women through mentorship and storytelling opportunities that help them find their voice and create change in their communities and beyond. Learn more on the EmpowerHer partner page.
Images owned by the author