Morsal Quraishi is an amazing student at our school who came from Afghanistan last year.

I’m lucky to have her as a student in two of my classes.

She wrote this amazing poem in another class taught by Christine Bowen, a very talented colleague. Christine shared it with a few of us, and Morsal and her parents have given me permission to publish it here:


War in Afghanistan

by Morsal Quraishi


Waking up with the sound of shooting

and bombs. Mother crying and screaming.

The fathers moan. All are tired of these

Terrible sounds. Even trees are crying for

Those who are dead. The flowers

are sad, stoned like the mother’s heart.

My homeland is across the bomb.

Our war-torn country, drowned

In the blood of our story. Every day

In the hope of peace, but

Every day is worse than yesterday.

Into this country reminder runs dry

Of worn mountains, by an unforgiving

sky. Each unheard whisper is a hurried

breath. Lost like water, in this valley

of death. The mothers oppressed by both nature and men. By

those back home, who’ve not made

amends. One day the streams, my flow

and run, under the unforgiving

sky of the Afghan sun.