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@ndt0900
By blood, we are immersed in love of you. The youth lose their heads for your sake. I come to you and my heart finds rest. Away from you, grief clings to my heart like a snake. I forget the throne of Delhi when I remember the mountain tops of my Afghan land. If I must choose between the world and you, I shall not hesitate to claim your barren deserts as my own. -Ahmad Shah Durrani
If my heart beats for Kabul, it's for the slopes of Bala Hissar, holding my dead in its foothills. Though not one, not one of those wretched hearts ever beat for me. If my heart grieves for Kabul, it's for Leyla's sighs of âOh, dear God!' and my grandmother's heart set pounding. It's for Golnar's eyes scanning the paths from dawn to dusk, spring to autumn, staring so long that all the roads fall apart and in my teenage nightmares side roads suddenly shed their skins. If my heart trembles for Kabul, it's for the slow step of summer noons, siestas in my father's house which, heavy with mid-day sleep, still weighs on my ribs. For the playful Angel of the Right Shoulder who keeps forgetting to ward away stray bullets. It's for the hawker's cry of the vegetable seller doing his rounds, lost in my neighbours' troubled dreams, that my heart's trembling. -Shakila Azizzada
Your heart is the size of an ocean. Go find yourself in its hidden depths.
Jalal ad-Deen Rumi (Molavi)
Originally found on: saalik
(via islamic-art-and-quotes)
Afghan beauties.
Sad Fact
Afghanistan has been at war for the past 30 years, and according to the director of the governmentâs mental health department, Bashir Ahmad Sarwari, half the population suffers from mental stress caused by the conflict.
âTwo out of four Afghans suffer from trauma, depression and anxiety,â he said. âThey are in trauma mainly because of three decades of war, poverty, family disputes and migration issues.â
âWhat is it like?â they ask, âto come from a country who has bled nothing but war for decades?â My eyes flood as they look through the orphans eyes recalling memories of their parents, my hands ache to heal the wounds of my fathers who were torn to pieces by land mines, my legs ache to walk by my sisters whose sold their honor to save their families souls, and my heart aches to beat in synchrony with my mothers whose hearts have nothing left to beat for. âPowerfulâ I say. âBecause the stories of my land have the power to both break me, and build me.â
Through the eyes of an Afghan. (via faramosh)
âIn Afghanistan, you donât understand yourself solely as an individual. You understand yourself as a son, a brother, a cousin to somebody, an uncle to somebody. You are part of something bigger than yourself.â
Afghan women carry the weight of mountains on our backs. These orphans, these widows, these burqas stained with blood- its embedded in our history. We are made of this. We are made of blood, sweat, and tears. The soil we come from is the home to roots that has given life to women of fire. Our homeland burns- but we collect the ashes.
An ode to the Afghan woman. (via faramosh)
How lucky we are To be among the people Who arenât afraid Of stepping outside Because we didnât Dodge landmines On our way To school
