Afghanistan Diaries: Farkhunda

I Am a Mother
(by Farkhunda, translated and reimagined)

I am a mother.
I am a woman, caught in the throat of this earth,
trapped between silence and the longing to scream.
I need a voice, a sliver of freedom,
one more breath, one more chance
to pluck an apple from the sky.
But I am weary.
Let them cast me out—again.

I became a mother months ago,
but not in the way I had dreamed.
It was not the motherhood I had imagined,
not the life I had envisioned.
My ambitions, once vibrant, now rest in a grave I did not dig.
Still, I carried on.
Marriage came, and with it, a tightening of my breath,
day by day, my world closing in.
Then, I carried life within me.
And now, my child is here.
But tell me—should I rejoice or grieve?

Once, they told me that becoming a mother was a celebration,
that joy and laughter would fill my home.
But tell me, what am I to celebrate?

That I have no money? No income?
That I cannot buy my child even the simplest of things?
That I do not know how to raise him in a world
where doors are shut before I can knock?

I cannot take him to the park.
I cannot fill his plate with warm, abundant meals.
I cannot offer him a world of laughter,
when my own laughter has long been stolen.

My grief is too vast for words.
But I go on.

I will be strong.
I will smile so that he can smile,
because I have nothing else to give.

No freedom.
No life that is truly mine.
Once, I had dreams—
now, even those have been taken from me.

I am more tired than you can imagine.
The swift passing of days and nights exhausts me,
leaves me stranded in my own existence.

I am neither happy for myself nor for my son.
I watch my life pass like a caravan in the distance,
moving forward without me.

And I remain—bewildered, lost, and tired.

A Young Woman's Diary

The views and opinions expressed in this Diary are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official position of More to Her Story.

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Tanzania Diaries: Aisha