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The Prisoner of
Dost Mohammad’s Days and nights Are interlaced with weeks, months and years. They come and go Like his growing toe nails and hairs. The walls in his cell Bounce his shadows around. An anemic ghost Trapped in a genie’s bottle. He is getting used to the Humiliating clanking noise Of the chains on his hands and legs When he walks around the compound. The only brightness that he really enjoys Is the glow from the orange suit That radiates on his gloomy face. Today, he saw the fearless bird Walking again on the wire fences. This bird has the audacity violating All the rules and regulations of the prison, Comes to sing its freedom songs To a caged bird like him. He was depressed. He saw the same dreaded dream Again this morning. The long braids wrapped around his neck, Trying to strangle him. He remembered his Taliban commander Ordered him to shoot that woman. She repeatedly violated the laws And walked without any escort to the market. Before her execution she screamed And tore her head cover, Her two defying braids Danced on her shoulders for a moment, And then the gun shot tore her heart. A big splotch of blood scattered over her face. She fell facing up the world, Her hairs lying on the ground Smeared with blood like wounded snakes.
Thousands of times he pondered Why is he here? He was a Mujahedeen and fought Against the godless Russians
To drive them away from “Our American friends came to help us. We fought their ideological cold war. They trained us in their weapons. They gave us Stinger missiles and machine guns. Weapons and money flowed like wines. Politics is like prostitutions. You can buy them in the bazaar. Whom we thought our friends Were never our friends. We were bought and sold Like those prostitutes. Now, I am a terrorist. I don’t have any rights. No laws protect me. I don’t deserve any trial. Nobody listens to my complaints, I will rot forever in this dungeon of the Pharaohs.” “Let me die.” He whispered a prayer to himself. “A single bullet is less costly Than all these elaborate arrangements. This dishonorable living behind bars, The indignity of living without justice, Is only possible in the uncivilized world. Even this bird has more freedom than me. It is not tied with a chain, Nor caged in a cell without a trial.” Hassan Nawaz February 20, 2007
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