You write letters with your broken pen
after waking up from a dream
undisturbed, among peonies soaked in water
your feet rest against the sand
that once kissed the moon
and the stars write back to you
transcripts of our conversations,
like fragrance, they leave a trail in the wind
and we remember them
on those odd nights of wakeful dreaming

The home we built was up in flames
but the cold air could not touch us

Our fences were broken by the wind
but we were once again face to face

I call out to you.
And the solemness in your broken irises
I call out to the dust on your hands
That sparkles when your tears fall onto them
How many battles have you fought?
How many times did you run from the rain?
Only to let the wind catch your hair
Like the kites above Kabul streets
How many hopeless dreams turned into nightmares?
Where heartbeats turned into the unspeakable silence
That follows the crushing of the world
Beautiful girl, you bleed out.
And I wonder how I can stop the bleeding
But my bandages can’t wrap your wounds
For they run deeper than the ground
And your child-like laughter
Filled with more life than any man
Echoes in the streets of Kabul
I call out to you
And I hear your silence
As it deafens the world

You hold pain in your palms
Like water lilies it floats around
You guard it with your fingers
But as time tells tales of broken pasts
Nothing can stop the rain
From washing the lilies away

And we sit on the porch steps
our bare feet rest on cold cement  
the space between memories and contentment
starts to occupy your lungs
we watch the distant rain, still too premature
yet you, in fear of the future
run inside.

You wash your heart with evening rain
as waves of drowsiness hold out
paper boats made of written dreams
that search endlessly for a lighthouse
to guide them home to you

The best of your days,
spent in vast fields of memorabilia.
Golden drops of sunset rain,
wash over your haste,
and you reach out for the hidden starlight,  
to rewrite the melodies of your broken heart.