Shame on you Ghani


One day,

my wounds shall heal,

my tears won’t fall off

on my chest anymore.

I will find a place to call home,

I will decorate it with the light of love,

place the mirror of forgiveness

in each separate room…

Because I am tired of wars,

of bomb blasts’ burning blaze,

suffocating smokes of rockets…

cut, butchered heads of human

with their blood drops dripping,

intestine blown out of bellies

laying across the street like threads,

of those sliced necks,

of those hanging tongues

limping on their cracked lips,

of those still staring eyes

popped out of their eye-sockets,

of those pieces of flesh

hanging on the branches of trees

like the frozen leaves…

I do not want to see these again…

I hate witnessing the sliced heads of kids,

the limping fathers with no legs,

the widowed mothers with no breads

sitting across the streets beginning

or those fleeing drown in Mediterranean Sea,

and those youths who died under snow flock

across Turkish borders…

I am sick of these ill-minded beasts,

of their cultivated seeds of hatred,

of their self-made borders of antagonism

between tribes, and religions…

I am from Ghazni,

but Kabul is the beating temple of my heart,

the enemy of Balkh and Badakhshan are

the enemy of my warm Afghani blood…

They have burnt from:

kids to mothers,

fathers to students,

& canaries to pigeons.

They had stolen our fruits,

& set our entire garden on fire.

They came in with their dirty turbans,

with pediculus beard to teach us Islam?

They are the traitors;

they betrayal wolves…

their slogans were nothing

but lies, & hypocrisy…

Where is killing,




& plunderage in Islam?

They have burned Masjid,

& weaken the conscience of

the entire humanity…

I have seen it myself that

they have burned Quran.

I am a strong believer of my religion,

my faith is as tall & solid as a mountain…

I choose to be an “infidel”,

If this is the version of your “Islam”.

You have burnt my home –

My childhood wings roasted

along with the window-frames…

my hopes & dreams shattered

as the glasses fell off the ground;

smashed under the rubbles

and burned to ashes.

For about a week, and so,

there was no other smell,

but the stink of horror,

the frying drift of human bodies,

and the thick smoke of our farms,

the dreadful cries of Striped hyena

where Mohammadi –

a scholarly person has been shot,

were the witness to these.

The exhaled sighs,

short & infrequent groans,

too were witness to these.

– and yet –

the same bloody history

repeats itself –

but in a different occasion,

in a different location,

in a different zone,

under a different dictator

but with the same grinding ideology…

The flame still ignites;

the smoke of hatred rides high

since the day Ghani –

the second version of Abdur Rahman,

the first version of the Taliban + ISIS –

the dictator,

the fascist,

the racist,

the cruel,

the thief –

the seed of hatred,

the piercing mouth of hyenas,

the blood-sucking vampires,

the root cause of all evils

stole the power…

His government equals:











& Final-solution –

His government equals:





Hazara kushi –

The cutting branches of our hopes…



& pride –

His friendship means nothing

except slaying the heads humans…

Until when?

Until when this bloodshed & suffering?

Until when this roasting fire burns here?

Until when the hands & heads of kids

are rolling on the streets?

Stop it….

Stop causing us pain & flee,

stop feeding our minds with false freedom,

stop setting this exhausted land on fire.

Stop fooling us with your lies,



You are nothing but a liar

The shooting machine gun

The black spot on the face of moon.

You set our homes on flame,

Infused kuches with the ideas of

genocide to steal our mother lands…

May your homes be ruined

Your heart be cracked

Your loved ones be pained

and your dictatorship collapse.

Torturing, committing genocide,

imposing confinements,

stealing our home lands,

rubbing salt on our wounds,

murdering our human pride, and

sucking our blood like vampires

became your daily living values…

I swear,

I doubt of your humanity,

I feel like a stone has replaced

that human-fleshed heart…

Whatever I write,

only cruelty, & evilness arise

from your generations…

Pains have chocked my throat,

and only this poem can end it…


Abdul Samad Haidari

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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