Here is Bamyan, Hazaristan. The Hazara still face systematic crimes such as discrimination by the Pashtunist government and genocide by terrorist groups including Pashtun Taliban, Kuchi and Daesh. In March 2001, Pashtun Taliban destroyed the ancient Buddha sculptures of Bamyan which were principal symbols of Hazara history and culture, and one of the most popular masterpieces of the oral and intangible heritage of humanity. However, the Hazara try their best to preserve their colorful (...)
THE MEMORIES BEHIND BRITTLE SILENCE
Wednesday 18 July 2012
The trees open their arms to welcome the wind, like many years they have been apart.
The organs jumping with joy, waving arms together dancing to the rhythm of the wind.
Glancing blow is an old wooden house, an old man sitting on the chair, legs stretched to have some sun….
Chinos up high, blouse bright as the sun, eye’s closed, auricles shaking listening to the forgiving beautiful nature.. hands reaching for the drink… take a seep like water appreciates it with the weather, the silence.
I glance with extensive eyes trying to find answers to the questions of what he is drinking; I wonder what it could be that it has isolated him from the nature
Nobody to shake him, nobody to laugh with him, nobody to share, nobody to listen …
I pity him all alone sitting isolated as the leaves dance around him …memories reunite. My brain shakes for distribution, my hands shaking from the pain, my legs stuck to the ground, my chair shaking like ill blow…
“oh NO!!” I scream out loud. I take a look for surrounding me seeking for help
I want to scream my voice has gone … I look at the man if he is coming to help but he is convinced by his isolated world..
I shake my self, I pull myself from the chair it seems I’m stuck in one position… seems like nobody can hear me …
I pull hair of hairs due to pain
I hold my arm from shaking
I hold my body from the pain …
Two rupee,!! Two rupee !!, three rupee!! people screaming different numbers, the environment is so loud so busy so much movement involved with ages from five and over
Aunty ! aunty please please buy a plastic bag, please aunty.
I can hear the kids screaming.. I look down a six year old dusty kid, head right up pale, begging looking at me mouth moving.. his old torn clothes, his body as weak as a branch, his eye’s seems like many years haven’t had sleep, his body looks as dry as an old dead leaf, his hand open begging for me to buy a plastic bag. My eyes are locked and shocked, I blink my eyes, hoping to see something else, but I see nothing but more kids as I walk ahead, the sales on street, the heat, the crowd, as I try to find my way out between the crowd.
Every step away, disables individuals’ different age groups…
Without eyes ….
.I pull myself to the side, I cant handle what I see before me, I blink my eyes, I pinch my skin to see if it is true what I see.
I begin to draw level with international countries many images emerge before me. “ is everything ok” I hear my cousin say in a soft quiet voice.
I look at her paused…thinking did she see the kids, the individuals how disable they were and still they were just delighted, working so hard like the Mongolian empire, its like its an hour left.
I look back behind me, as I move forward individuals are disappearing within the dust , the wind, my voice is frozen due to the amount of dust . I hold my scarf tight to my mouth to prevent the dust , my eyes are exploring the environment, the heat, the crowd, the individuals…
As we reach the school, students sitting on the dusty floor, some with one book and some does not even have a book, hands dusty, eyes and ears open as if they are thirsty for education, hands brittle from the hard work similar to old fragile hair… they seem not to notice about how they dressed up, but they do care what they learn….
The pages have finished, memorizing teachers words by heart similar to remembering a word like a number.
You have manipulated my style, although you’ve increased my understanding on my timeline. You’ve kept your tongue brittle to silence this has become your daily pledge
I look at my hand, I take a deep sign.
I am not yet as strong as you, to shed blood like shedding rain.. Long I’ve forgotten what I had.
The wings I’ve had its starting to shake, the heart and power I had it seems its vanishing between the memories….
The wind the dusty climate, the heat drowns me back to my veranda.. Taking a glance around I see the man has fallen asleep his drink bottles lining next to him, I zoom out the image, the beautiful clean warm environment.
What a misfortune , countless individuals are beating behind silence, yet I’m breathing among still… but long I’ve been distanced from the globe. Memories emerge as I move with the world … what happiness united families left behind but what a disgrace where time can lead..
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