Time heals they say
and those deep cuts
in your mind and heart
will be stitched back.

Heart will be emptied
and mind will be eased,
but how to escape
those traumatic scenes
that follow you
like your shadow?

29-years passed me by
with miseries, separation,
and all ups and downs;
yet, I still fight, I cry,
I scream and I keep
my murdered soul high.

I’m afraid to open my eyes;
afraid to find myself again
in the corner of my small
humid room all alone –
with no one around.

I’m afraid to open my eyes;
afraid to start my day
with the same bad news
from my hometown.

Afraid to hear about
another bomb-last;
afraid to hear about
another friend, relative
and cousin being shot.

I’m afraid to open my eyes;
afraid of my traumatic dreams;
afraid of who or what will trigger
my broken heart to burst into tears.

I’m afraid of every second;
afraid of every minute;
afraid of every hour
and afraid of
every same and next day.

I’m afraid to talk to others;
afraid to walk among strangers;
afraid of who is out there
waiting for me to shoot
in the forehead;
afraid of what will happen
and how will happen;
and afraid that I can’t escape.
I’m even afraid of my shadow,
the shadow that sometimes
gives me the picture of
those with black turban
and covered faces
who burnt my books,
who broken my pen,
and who tortured
my hometown friends.

I pass my day with these thoughts
in my head and when the night falls,
I’m afraid to close my eyes –
thinking nobody will realize
if something bad happens to me.

I’m afraid to close my eyes,
thinking how my mother
ended her day;
how may she shed tears
in my absence,
day after day.

When the night falls,
I’m afraid to close my eyes;
afraid of what will I see
or hear again;
afraid of my dreams
that torture me every night
and often end in loud screams.

I’m afraid to wake up again;
afraid of the pain that runs
through my bones and brain;
I’m even afraid of starting
a new day;
afraid of these unbearable miseries
that never cast away.

About samad1986

Abdul Samad Haidari is a poet, writer, teacher and a former freelance journalist, currently residing in Indonesia as a stateless refugee. He is the author of The Red Ribbon He fled his home country at the age of seven and grew up wandering in Pakistan and Iran as a child refugee, and was separated from his family for the majority of his childhood. For two years, at the age of eight and nine, he was forced into child labour in the construction industry in Iran. In contrast, Pakistan offered refugees like him the opportunity to study and work. This education and work experience culminated in Abdul teaching computer studies and English language courses at the Intel Computer Center and Pak Oxford Professionals. After the collapse of the Taliban government, Abdul returned to Afghanistan thinking that the security situation had improved, and that he could take part in the reconstruction of his war-torn country. With this in mind, Abdul served as a freelance journalist and humanitarian aid-worker in areas of the country that remained dangerous to civilians because of the influence of terrorist groups. Abdul served with the Norwegian refugee council (NRC), ActionAid Afghanistan, Daily Outlook Afghanistan group of newspapers, and The Daily Afghanistan Express. As a freelance journalist, Abdul wrote articles and editorials about on-the-ground realities, which were then circulated widely. These had a particular focus on women and children’s rights, corruption, transparency and accountability in government, warlords and terrorist groups’ actions and the systematic persecution of minority groups in both Afghanistan and Pakistan.
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