“May many a mosque rise, from the grave of mine!
And Azans break free, bathe the jaundiced minds pure
No more be a woman, laid on fidelity’s line
Why faith be a coerced crime, not soul’s savior?
Where you find scattered now, my creed’s rosary
Many millions counted needlessly, in the wait of that lord
Who never cared to redeem, my labors of His piety
And oversaw from heavens, Farkhunda gored and gored!
Did you find that Quran, I burnt, you had sworn?
Though I find it now, in my stricken soul, so torn, so torn
Page by page, baptized, in my blood and tears
Why a man’s faith dares, and a woman’s faith fears
Still livid are blood-caricatures of my faith on cold streets, smolders on my soul by Kabul River
Of a poised chutzpah, and a pious fatwa
A phony sinner lost, to a barefaced liar
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