Once, we were spring—
a green branch,
hand in hand with the sun…
and now
we are autumn,
fallen,
silent,
in the alleys of oblivion.
We were young,
full of dreams,
and in the tempest of adversity
we broke…
just as
they broke
the newly blossomed flowers of our homeland,
and with the rope of darkness,
confined them to cages.
In the endless night,
we died…
no hand,
no name,
no voice,
no gaze.
The desire to arrive deceived us…
we set out
with hearts full of dreams,
but
each time,
they cut our breath short halfway…
and we never arrived,
and we never will.
The grave
is a home
where one can sleep
without fear—
for me,
for you,
for us.
Wishes remain in our hearts,
endless,
and here,
our sleeping voice
has sunk
into an eternal silence…
Fahim Arezou
May 14
May 14, 2026 at 5:31 AM UTC
A beautiful autumn morning—
a gentle breeze
whispers
through trembling leaves.
A restless leaf,
terrified of falling
from yesterday’s green embrace—
fresh,
young,
alive…
And now,
it waits only
to fall
and die.
When winter arrives,
the trees—
and that lone tree,
old and ancient—
will stand withered,
leafless,
branchless,
voiceless…
“No shade remains from my palm,
nor fruit for anyone.”
Waiting for death.
And the axes,
merciless and heavy,
with handles carved
from the wood of the tree itself,
come crashing down
upon the roots,
to kindle a fire
inside my lifeless soul.
Fahim Arezou
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 10:24 PM UTC
My shadow
clings to me—
indifferent,
it gazes at the state of the world.
With silence,
wordless,
sightless,
and guiltless.
At times on the ground,
at times on the wall—
no station,
no mask upon its face.
Here the sun
tenderly shines within me;
and my shadow,
always with me,
companion—
neither hand in the slaughter of innocents,
nor hidden behind a curtain.
My shadow, ever with me,
bears an unspoken word;
and I wonder:
If the world
were wholly veiled in shadows—
would it not be better?
Perhaps…
I am the shadow myself:
dark,
and obscure.
Fahim Arezou
Afghanistan-Herat
May 9
May 9, 2026 at 8:58 AM UTC