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.