I want to do things with my life but I also want to bury myself in a forest and let the moss grow over me so where does that leave us
Pay attention to the intricate patterns of your existence that you take for granted.
Maybe when we die, the first thing we’ll say is, ‘I know this feeling. I was here before.’
You won’t allow me to go to school.
I won’t become a doctor.
One day you will be sick.
Poem written by an 11 year old Afghan girl
This poem was recorded in a NYT magazine article about female underground poetry groups in Afghanistan. An amazing article about the ways in which women are using a traditional two line poetry form to express their resistance to male oppression, their feelings about love (considered blasphemous).