The first picture really took me aback — she is almost ethereal.
O exiles of the mountain of oblivion!
O the jewels of your names, slumbering in the mire of silence
O your obliterated memories, your light blue memories
In the silty mind of a wave in the sea of forgetting
Where is the clear, flowing stream of your thoughts?
Which thieving hand plundered the pure golden statue of your dreams?
In this storm which gives birth to oppression
Where has your ship, your serene silver mooncraft gone?
Light blue memories, Nadia Anjuman
It’s been almost a year now since I dedicated a post to Nadia Anjuman – Remembering Nadia Anjuman: One Day, My Hands Will Become Weavers.
A new book featuring her poetry came out couple of months ago, entitled Load poems like guns: Women’s Poetry from Herat, Afghanistan. It made me think of Anjuman again, made me dive into her poetry and admire it once…
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