“Without my Afghanistan” by Hangama Ahmadzai

It’s hard to describe what it’s like

Being without a land

I am a nomad without a destination

I am an Afghan without my Afghanistan

I long for the peaceful shelter that

My childhood memories provide

I long for the picnics in Paghman

I long for the getaways to Jalalabad

I long for the sound of the Mu’azin calling all to prayers

I long for the sight of her tulips

Her spring air so crisp

Her summer wind so warm

Her autumn breeze so welcoming

Her winter chill so refreshing

The Arch of Triumph in Paghman

My memories are wisps

Yet my mind clings onto them

As if it knows its value

And like a velvet chest, keeps its treasures

Well protected with tender care

The land of many heroes

Is suddenly without a vision

The land of many Shaheeds

Is drowning with the blood of the innocent

Where once her stars shone with bright fervour

A blanket of gloom hangs over her skies

Where once poets, storytellers, and historians

Wrote about her timeless beauty

Reporters, documentarians, and humanitarians

Write about her heartbreaking destruction

The gleam of knowledge has forsaken

Her historical byways

The darkness of ignorance has overtaken

Her deep valleys

Her fields were once rich

With the cradle of life

Her trees were once overflowing

With fruits of labour

Gathered around the sundali

I long for a taste of her ruby-red anar seeds

I long for a slice of her delicious apple

I long to buy candy from dokane Nabi jan

As my grandmother chased me down the street

I long for the winter nights under the warm sundali       

As my grandfather told stories of days gone by    

As I turn the pages of my mind’s album

More memories begin to unearth

I remember having a craving for dried yoghurt, qoroot

As kids crowded around its stall

I remember the smell of mantoo dumplings

As I walked with my mom through its bazaars

Maybe one day I will feel her

History drenched earth under my feet

Maybe one day I will see the beauty

That the poets, storytellers and historians were writing about

Maybe one day I will experience

The short lived heaven that my parents always talk about

Maybe one day I will drink from

Her sweet streams, taste her delicious nectar

And watch her unforgettable sunsets

Maybe I am dreaming…

But then again it’s hard to describe

What it’s like being without a land,

Without a destination,

Without my Afghanistan…

Hangama Ahmadzai is a Lecturer at Ryerson University.  She enjoys dabbling in photography, writing poetry and stories about her adventures in life.  

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