If you come in the fall
I will paint on a wall,
A love cottage and a moon_
I am waiting you come soon.
I will wait all the year,
Summer, spring, fall, winter_
I will count day by day;...
A virtual route of creative and cultural exchange
Places
Kabul, Afghanistan
« I have come again and am shining like gold on the dusty road after years it is not the smell of soil it is the smell of my birthplace. » —Mujib Mehrdad, The specks of birthplace
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Can literature accept social responsibility? Some say that the arts should be purely arts--nothing else, that writers should only serve the gods of beauty and joy. In some cases, this makes sense, particularly... media_text
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دلم میخواست برای تو در آسمان ماه میبودم
برای دیدنت عزیز مثل شب سیاه میبودم دلم میخواست به راه تو مرغ هوایی میشدم برای پر زدن بتو بهر سو راهی میشدم دلم میخواست برای تو ابر میبودم قطره قطره میباریدم... media_text
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I don’t remember the Mississippi river and its warm sand media_text
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Because we fly with a single wing, my country has isolated itself from the rest of civilization. Afghanistan, as a culture, is male-centered--women are worth nothing. We believe all women are mentally... media_text
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A short story by Mohibullah Zegham (from my first collection of short stories “Hill in the Human”) Translated by Rashid Khattak It was a market day. I had loaded 16 sacks full of potatoes in a truck and... media_text
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I have decided you can go media_text
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I came out with Gulab’s son. We waited near the Bibi Mahood Mausoleum. Cars were all around us. The police and army personnel were standing on both sides of the road too. Opposite the mausoleum, an American... media_text
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در تابستان بارانم تو هستی همان ابری بهارانم تو هستی
منم آن ماهی نیم جان ساحل بیا دریا که آبشارم تو هستی تویی تنها دلیل زنده گانی طلوع صبح... media_text
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تمام شعر من موج نگاهت media_text
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دلم را با نگاهی تو ربودی media_text
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Do you remember? media_text
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