The Afghan Girl

The Afghan Girl

You are staring at me from the safety of your photograph.
You cradle your child, yet you are but a child yourself.
You look frightened - is it because I am looking at you,
Or can it be because you are looking at me?

You are veiled, yet your veil does not hide you.
It cannot mask your eyes, large dark eyes
That stare at me, sadly, wistfully, yet is it fear?
Or is it longing, a distant dream, for you and your child?

What is your story, Madonna child, what are you thinking?
What have those black eyes seen, what depths experienced?
Have you a handsome young husband or are you a trophy
Of forced marriage to a gnarled and aged warrior chief?

Have you known desire? Is your child a fruit of love?
Or is it a consequence of brutal rape and shame?
Is your child a boy who’ll protect you or cause you grief?
Or is it a vulnerable girl, the mirror image of yourself?

I want to rescue you, rock you in my arms and console.
You could be my own granddaughter - yet there is such distance;
You are a world away.