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when I lifted a corner of the heavy burqa when I exposed my mouth and nose desperate to gulp air, they beat me unconscious When they beat us again with whips and metal cables while we waited in the hospital when the sick babies in their mothers' arms fell on the floor, my will to live began to tremble. In the summer of 96 we laughed. I can't remember the sound. Before that September when the Taliban came we were no different than you Now we are the ghosts of Afghanistan The women and the girls of a whole country under house arrest. For trying to go to work, my sister was beaten For leaving her home alone, my neighbor was tortured For showing her ankle as she rode behind her husband on a bike my girlfriend was shot dead on the street. My children are shrinking before my eyes but I am banned from receiving food from the World Food Programme. In the orphanage are girls who have never seen the sun or trees My sons are being taught a man should beat a female who is seen even through the windows of a home or a bus. I view the world through a patch of mesh in a voluminous tent that pulls me to stooping The garment gates me, takes mobility and voice When the burqa descends over my tender head I am invisible, a living woman who can't be seen or heard My woman's will to live can strengthen only on the thread that connects me to you. |