Did you know that the Taliban writes poetry?
They don't accept us as humans,
They don't accept us as animals either.
And, as they would say,
Humans have two dimensions.
Humanity and animality,
We are out of both of them today.
We are not animals,
I say this with certainty.
But,
Humanity has been forgotten by us,
And I don't know when it will come back.
May Allah give it to us,
and decorate us with this jewellery,
the jewellery of humanity,
For now it's only in our imagination.
(...)
The Troubled Shepherd
Your flute’s song is nostalgic,
O shepherd, troubled with the world’s civilization.
As you spend the nights by yourself in the dusty desert,
Your business is the song with flute, O shepherd.
Your old hair and dusty beard look very heavy,
O shepherd unaware of time.
May Allah make the world disappear, the jackal that would trouble you,
O shepherd, away from home from months.
May your songs’ poems not run out on the journey,
May you not be hungry in the desert, my dear.
Who will tend to your cracked feet and rough hands?
You haven’t seen any blessing or comfort, O vagrant shepherd.
Shoemakers are tired of pounding nails into your shoes,
You didn’t find new shoes, O shepherd without beauty.
You seem to have understood the secret of mortal life,
O disbeliever in the world of materials, shepherd.
(...)
At your Christmas, Bagram is alit and bright;
On my Eid, even the rays of the sun are dead.
Suddenly at midnight, your bombs bring the light;
In our houses, even the oil lamps are turned off.
(...)
Thunder
I am looking for whishes in the darkness of life
I am looking for my hopes mixed in among the soil.
The treasures of my whishes disappeared over time,
That's why, like Majnun: I am looking for deserts.
Affected by lukewarm tears,
I became a sea of mourning; I am looking for storms.
My feelings became upset with the feelings of other citizens
I am looking for a cure for the mind's thunder.
The courtyard of my love was ruined in the earthquakes of the time,
I am now wondering, looking for other courtyards.
The garden of my imagination was baked in the oven of cruelty,
I am looking for pain in imagination.
I, Ebrat, either went mad or have eaten hashish,
I am looking for flowers in thorns.
(...)
London Life
There are clouds and rain but it doesn’t have any character;
Life has little joy or happiness here.
It’s bazaars and shops are full of goods,
These kinds of goods don’t have a value.
Life here is so much lost in individuals that
Brother to brother and father to son, there is no affection.
Their knowledge is so great that they drill for oil in the depths of the oceans
But even this knowledge doesn’t t give them a good reputation.
I see their many faults and virtues with my own eyes, but what can I say?
O Sa’eed, my heart doesn’t have the patience to bear this.