in your bow? You opened your closed eye slowly. It looks like you started watching my youth. Yes, I am that deer in this forest.""And, the tender Talib Jan; The one with long hair, The young Talib Jan, Who used to cleanse hearts with his voice when he called the azan . . . You would not ask me why I am crying."
Those lines are from three poems in the newly published "Poetry of the Taliban", a collection that is as maddeningly confusing as it is revealing. The hatred of the west. The intimacy between the hunted and the hunter.
from Reuters: Taliban poetry, mourn the dead boy, curse the naked "daughter of the west"
then The Guardian: Poetry of the Taliban--review
then Dawn: When militants become poets
~~~~~~~~~~~
No comments :
Post a Comment