Photo by Cordelia Persen

I asked my soul last night,
“What happens to you if you don’t write?”
My soul was in deep thought
I said again, “Answer me…
Pardon me!
I asked if you don’t write,
what will happen?”

My soul’s eyes were full of tears.
She sat in front of me and said,
“I can’t imagine what will happen
but I can understand when I don’t write
I am like a dry river.
Fishes say goodbye.
I am like a thirsty tree waiting for water in a desert —
I am like an orphan child searching love of parents —
I am like a broken lover —
I am like a blasted Kabul street full of blood.

“When I can’t write,
It is hard to say —
but it is my only identity.
I can’t stop writing because
when I can’t talk —
when I am very alone, I am not alone.
With my writings I write about
things I can’t talk about.
When I write
I feel fresh
I wear my favorite dress of my desires,
sit under the tree of my thoughts
and I write and write.

“I stop?
Maybe
when I am not able to breathe.
When…”

Roya is an Afghan Poet and Writer.

Reposted from the Afghan Women’s Writing Project (AWWP): Giving voice to Afghan Women because “To Tell One’s Story is a Human Right”

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