Without yesterday

Sing aloud, sad bird; no sound touches my heart anymore— not the flight of a bird at dawn, nor the wind whistling behind the window. No one passes through the sunset inside a poet girl, and the sun has forgotten the way home. My soul smells of earth, my mouth smells of earth, and words are buried there before they are born. No book tempts me now, no poem, not even Herat’s saffron tea with its gentle autumn smell. Sounds spill from the walls, like restless sparrows, and every day I run from this nameless invasion into the streets. From Mustofiat to Cinema Chowk, from the Shahr e Naow to a station where no meetings are set, through invisible alleys that never lead to freedom. the staring eyes of passersby, the betrayal waiting around the corner, and the patched-up poems of rickshaw drivers— I escape to the shelter of home. In sleep, I walk in my mother’s shoes; a woman sings a lullaby into my pillow, and behind my eyelids a girl lives who is not me. Oh, my sad bird; no one calls me anymore— not for a poem, not for love, not even to turn off a light at the end of the night. And I am still walking in my mother’s shoes, without feet, without yesterday. Footnotes: 1. Herat’s saffron tea – A traditional tea from Herat, Afghanistan, flavored with saffron. 2. Mustofiat – One of the central streets in Herat, Afghanistan. 3. Cinema Chowk – A street in Herat where cinemas and theaters used to be located. 4. Shahr-e Naow – A modern area of Herat, contrasting with older neighborhoods. 5. Rickshaw drivers – Local cycle rickshaw drivers seen in Afghan cities.