Who is he that spreads grief in every home?
The sigh of the starved -- was it not enough?
The bare foot -- was it not enough?
The severed hand -- was it not enough?- And the limping youth?
The blood of the martyrs -- was it not enough?
The grief of the bereaved -- was it not enough?
That you should smear in dirt and blood
our history and culture,set to fire
this peerless ancient treasure,
and now and then pick
on our children or fight with our ancestors?
Can the sad tears of humanity washfrom the history face these stains of dishonor?
Oh Assamayi Mountain
in your stony breaths is
the spirit of a thousand silent sparks.
Oh stone, oh patience
your height is faith’s resolve --
history’s sublime poem
the myth of sacred pride is
in your conscious mind
The endless pain of this city is
in your cold stony vein
Oh stone, oh patience
oh silent witness of crimes.
what wound was swelling
in your inner-stone’s bleeding heart
which suddenly sundered your heart?
Oh stone, oh patience!
A Poem by Qahar Ossi
Reddens the streets
And the city is sitting in deep blues
Over the dead
Again children die hungry and naked
Without guns and politics
And mothers, unaccustomed to war and ruthlessness,
Cringe at the feet of death
Again the vulture claws of the new oppression
Play with the city corps
Again fountains of blood spiral higher
From the throat of the new wound, with a new cry
Again arrogance and revenge fuel
The bestial complex of the cowards
To add orphans to orphans
To add pain to the grieving heart
Again the blood Sphinx opens its mouth
To swallow this poor and afflicted town
Again from far and faraway the sky
Watches our dying
Again the nation, shedding blood from head to feet,
Enumerates its dead
Again the scarred and woeful nation
Weaves its crimson shrouds
Again the night in the guise of blood
Creeps on roofs and under doors
Again from the morning’s metallic bed
The day slowly and slowly melts feet and head
Again in the fight of two rams,
The ewe loses a foot and dies
In the grapple of two plough-oxen
The poor donkey loses all
And one who has no foot to escape
From this city is crushed by bombs
And one who has no desire to stay
Is horse-shoed, harnessed, and bound
Again shells and shrapnel
Pierce eyes and hearts
Again fear and grief grips the city
Again everywhere bodies taken to graveyards
This one in his stronghold entrenched
The other one up there vowing revenge
When you ask who is killed
You are told: Oh he was just a water-carrier
or a shoe-maker
Again the city tired of too much death
Burned and broken
And the Asmayi Mountain cracks from pain
Again Kabul sitting in deep blues