I am an immigrant

photo by Tahera K. I am an immigrant Her eyes shine, like two beautiful stones. Her face is covered with her big loose headscarf.A few strands of hair move in the rhythm of wind.She is holding her scarf with her thumb and index, so it doesn’t fall...

Kites Know No Boundaries

My name is Tahera. I am fifteen years old.Right now, I live in Pakistan. But my story began in Kabul.Kabul was never peaceful, but it was alive. We measured the distance between joy and danger by the sound of explosions we often heard. Snow, cold days, our coal...

The Girl I Am, The Change I Carry

They always ask me where I’m from.I say, “Do you want the short story, the long one, or the one I tell when I’m tired?” I am Afghan by blood, refugee by chance. I am from Afghanistan. But I am also from exile. From long lines and temporary...

I, the Dust

I am dust. Very small and barely noticeable, but I exist. Once, I was a mountain. Not the whole mountain, of course—just a speck of it. But a mountain is made of countless specks, as numerous as the stars in the sky. And still, can’t we call a speck of the...

A Voice Died Inside Me

No one truly understands that death doesn’t always arrive with a scream. Sometimes, it slips quietly into an unfinished sentence, into the trace of a smile that never quite leaves the lips, or into the silent passing beside a wall that no longer holds any color....

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