The following poem is dedicated to all fair-minded people in whose hearts prejudice is a homeless beggar.
"Dad, dad, at night... I can’t sleep.
Ahmad’s groans, and ahs never cease,
Since he’s lost his two legs!
Dad, isn’t that so painful more than death?
Rasheed’s father can’t reply.
It is through his teary eyes,
That the boy senses his father’s pain."
"Dad, don’t let him lie,
Next to me for he bleeds all time!
Dad, in his crimson blood, soaked I get.
That I think I’ve wet myself!
I have no change, dad, you know!
A new suit for me! Who’ll buy? Who’ll sew?
Dad, dad, sleep with us tonight.
When I see Ahmad’s wounds, I’m frightened,
And haunted with nightmares,
Which, dad, I can’t bear!"
"Dad, dad, when Ahmad, the sweet boy, cries,
My heart is into ashes torn,
And I cry with him all night, all night!
Dad, Ahmad’s a decent boy!
What crime has he done?
I’m afraid, dad, my turn’ll come!"
"Dad, dad, why are we starved always?
Why are we ragged and shoeless?
Why are we so desperate and helpless?
Don’t they know, mercy claimers, we are guiltless?"
The father stands still, and doesn’t move.
He knows his end is soon.
He can’t find a fitting reply,
To soothe his young lad’s plight.
"Is it true, dad, we are bad?
Is it true our faith is wrong?
Is it unlawful to be from Afghanistan?
Or is it against the law,
To have a faith,
In Islam?"
"Dad, dad, why don’t you hear
What I say?
Who will, then, help me get a grasp
Of this life?
Why is it, dad, in this place,
Always dark and night?"
Rasheed’s by anger seized,
He takes up the wooden piece,
His father has designed,
As a board to teach him the ABCs
While they sit side by side.
Rasheed throws it down,
With all his might,
Pieces small small, it blows all around.
And penetrates into the broken father’s heart.
"I don’t want your ABCs, dad.
I’m learning those of death and woe.
Regularly, everyday, dad,
I’m taught a lesson by their bombs,
And I’ll get my diploma out of their school,
In how to kill with no gloom,
Innocent people of another faith.
One day, dad, one day!"
You think I’ll be a doctor, dad, when I grow!
No! You’re fooled. Not anymore!"
The boy’s tone’s doubling, doubling high,
That the father’s deaf almost.
His eyes growing, growing wide,
That they’d kick in,
All they perceive.
O, the boy’s fists are so clenched,
Through which his feverish anger’s sensed.
A sense of fear creeps.
Into the father’s heart and digs.
His widened eyes are plunging out,
For he has seen in his lad,
Something that outgrew his age,
Not years but decades.
"When I grow up, dad,"
The boy goes on,
"I’ll kill them all,
Their children, teens and old."
The father moves at last,
He slaps the boy so harsh.
He leaves the room,
And slams the door,
Of the shattered house,
That shakes as if it fears
The father’s rage.
O, a piece of wood from the ceiling falls,
Before the boy who kicks it away,
And in his tears, fades and fades.
Outside the wooden house,
The father prays to God,
"O, God, you who know all things,
Small and large,
You know I haven’t taught my son,
To kill people if no guilt they’ve done.
And I testify to this world all,
That your Islam,
Didn’t teach ’em that
It’s they, God,
They and their bombs,
Who taught him that.
O, God, let me die.
I can’t bear this life."
A loud shriek thunders in the air,
A horrible scene drives all insane.
Young Aysha’s head,
Is opened wide.
A fountain of blood,
Is flowing out like a flood!
An aid sack had fallen,
From the merciful bombers and broken,
Young Aysha’s head,
And made her shriek her last,
Then silenced her forever.
The father runs for her aid.
He gets trapped over a mean stone.
He falls and can’t stand upright again.
He knows his prayer’s been answered.
He knows he is soon to die.
Rasheed rushes out of the house,
Frightened and torn, "Who shrieked?"
He asks.
The father bids him to come close.
He kisses his head, cheeks and nose.
"I’m sorry I slapped you, dear lad,
For you were right!
When you grow up, sweetie,
Kill them all, all,
Their children, teens, and old,
And hand each child a lollipop,
Before you crush his soul.
O, Rasheed, heed what I’ve said,
For these are my last words, dear."
A single tear,
Falls over his cheek.
Rasheed doesn’t cry much.
He’s used to miseries as such.
Hamda comes out,
The young sister looks for her dad.
The tiny soul knows,
How a dead man looks.
She falls down and cries,
All her heart out.
The boy rushes to his sister,
And picks her up.
He wipes her tears.
He wipes the mud away.
He loves Hamda and her chestnut eyes.
He touches her white cheeks,
And pats her flowing hair.
He hugs her tight,
And tells her not to cry,
For, in heaven, she’ll see her father,
And there he’ll play with her.
And there she’ll play and dress,
As she likes.
Rasheed leaves the house.
He has no choice,
For he is sure a bomb,
Will blow it out.
Carrying Hamda who hugs him tight,
Carrying Ahmad on his back,
He walks in the wilderness,
To a destiny of which
He has no sense.
Rasheed’s a child empty of childhood.
He has left it behind,
In the shattered house,
Where it weeps and calls for his name,
Where it might be bombed at any time.
Disguised in his ragged, tiny figure,
Rasheed’s a grown up man.
He has his two siblings to keep.
He never dreams,
Of a kite to fly,
But he dreams like an old man,
Of his gorgeous sister, Hamda,
Married and happily settled.
He dreams he could shoot,
Aysha’s bombers and darken their doom.
After then, he’d wish he could,
Hug his grave and be dead.
O, Rasheed, I see everywhere,
Ragged and shoeless as you are,
In every part,
Of Muslim Afghanistan.