Kabul behind my window

Bashir Sakhawarz

   Days evaporation of thoughts in the dusty plane

   Nights caravans of khutbeh from mosques

   Kabul

               a changed skin

               worn by children in rubbish tips

               worn by silence and noise

                           silence of living

                           noise of death.

   Mountains translation of tolerance

               shoulders of dry deserts

               mother of rivers

               height of tragedy

               disappear behind my window

   dust, shout and the mullah like a worm

               through the loudspeakers

               life is another ablution

               another clean bottom. 

   I am late

   mountains have moved

   Kabul soaks in pain

   here it is

   here it is not

   like a magic

   like a dream

  the road to Kabul

   disappears.