The Last song!

Small girls....
With little dolls in their laps
All wearing colourful clothes,
In the middle of a burning sun heat, under the shadow of a Mulberry tree
are building strong castles....
Castles of mud for their dolls
They all eating ripened mulberries
Their lips are reddish
They don’t need lip-stick to wear on their lips
Smearing the mulberries juice on the dolls faces too
Dolls cheeks are flushed like the cheeks of a bride

Small boys...
Under the shadow of another mulberry tree
few yards ahead -playing marble game
a game without rules,
they scream, call names, laugh, show anger
get hurt at times....
complaints begins,
“Why did you cheat?”
“Cheating is sin- you are a sinner”
They devise another game for the undecided winner!
They start running towards an open hut at the centre of the village
Breathless as they are...
One of the boys foot start bleeding...
Everybody gets concerned
A small girl tears her doll clothes she made with love
To put on his injured foot.....
Boys are no concerned about the winner now!
A cry of cheating, soon forgotten
A cry for help, soon forgotten.....
Complaints stops, accusation stops,
Everyone seems happy.
They make up their amazing demands now
a glass of water, I am thirsty, please!
One brings the onion,
Another dried up naan, a piece of Gur
Azan begins on the loud speaker
Everyone seems soft
Everyone becomes attentive

Mothers and grandmothers in their lifeless clothes
With silent fingers
straightening their wrinkles made of worries not of age,
And from time to time
trying to overcome their boredom
they exchange the hottest news of the village and nearby villages
in low voices....
The story of a thief,
Or a murder,
Or a mad dog,
Or a robbery,
Or a flood,
The story of a wedding,
The story of an old war their husbands fought so bravely
Stories they all share- with curiosity
Stories they all share with utmost interest

Grandma comes out of the house, wearing heavy black shawl...
Caring smile on her face
an encouraging look
or an instructive gesture?

A small dog...
moves around, as if lost, looking for something.
Or looking for the food left over?
A caravan of camels passes – silently
Like a row of prisoners of war.
Boys starts running with caravan and makes funny voices

Dark clouds pile up above the sky
sun looks dim now
Lightening and thunderstorm starts
Heavy rain comes heavily....

Boys run to the mosque
A loud crying
comes from the gilrs’palace...
a small girl shouts in the face of everyone:
‘Heavy rain has come girls!
‘Heavy rain has come girls!
‘The palace has fallen girl!
In panic
They take their shawls,
Leaving behind a deserted palace
They built with love
Breathlessly they run to their own houses!
Houses with no windows!
Houses with no doors!
For drones has made it so!
And I stand alone
Preparing to sing the last song
In David’s melody
In a funeral mask
the song of deaths dancing on my land!
The land of proud, but miserable Pashtuns.

Farid Gul, London. April 6th, 2009