Scaring a Dead Man
By Nematullah Ahangosh
The women were pacing in peace,
Big smiles on their faces,
Their distant laughter faded,
Heading to unknown paths.
I asked, Oh sisters, pray for me,
Yet they didn’t hear.
The men came marching,
Big bodies carrying their heads,
Long hands hanging from shoulders,
Big steps speeding up,
I asked, Oh brothers, pray for me,
They didn’t hear.
I saw a woman crying,
Her face was familiar,
She looked old; she was my mother.
A child accompanying her, was my sister.
I asked her not to cry! But,
she didn’t hear.
She was busy, collecting my pieces,
Crying when collecting.
I realized I was dead a while ago,
As I touched my body it was cold and relaxed.
After she collected me – I was not a piece but pieces,
I was blown up an hour ago,
Those were my parts.
Women and men gathered,
To wash me and connect my pieces.
And they put me in a coffin,
Carried me to the cemetery,
Crying, praying as they buried me;
I saw soldiers with rifles,
I asked them not to fire,
They did not hear me.
That is how they celebrated my death;
Firing up to the sky,
Scaring birds and animals,
Scaring a dead man.
My beloved mother, this was my story!
I went to earn a living and I am sorry.
Nematullah Ahangosh from Afghanistan wrote this poem as a homage to a friend that he lost due to a bomb attack. Nematullah, who a 2021 kanthari participant, is also the founder of Stretch More, an organisation with a mission to challenge the stigma, pity, and victimization of persons with disabilities.
Stretch more empowers them with skills that help them to survive in crisis situations through sports, leadership, survival and problem solving skills. https://stretchmore.org/
