My mother releases blood curdling screams
in her dreams, even while asleep, the bombs explode.
The Pashtun women compose their landays while they work. No one claimed authorship of the landays so that anything could be said and no one could be blamed. In the new generations,a string of landay are often shared like a love song in an exchange of emails. I dedicate these landays to the women who could not sign their names to their landay. May we all be safe one day to set free our words without a veil of secrecy.
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ALL POEMS ARE COPYRIGHTED MATERIAL OF
© ANN NOOR-UN-NISA KRISCHUS
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Tuesday, July 23, 2019
Saturday, July 20, 2019
Tears turn into rainbows...
Tears turn into rainbows, my dear child.
The storms move on, subdued by the Light of Paradise.
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